Cult Fiction
by TopHatGirl
Summary: Finding their way in the eccentric city of San Francisco, college boys Ike and "Shift" battle with murder scene living spaces, mass killings causes, the next uprising, and maybe some hardcore soul searching. Sequel to The Burning. Co written with Ecrounox
1. Chapter 1: Ominous Feelings

**READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE RIGHT NOW.**

**TopHatGirl: Hey, kids. The chapter you're about to read below has not been written by me. It's been written by this series's cowriter ecrounox. She's going to be the writer of Ike here, and all of her chapters are in his POV. I'm going to be Shift here. If you haven't read the previous installment of this, titled The Burning(written by me), then you're probably going to be very **_**very **_**confused. Go on and read it, you won't be disappointed. There's already the first 4 chapters up to please you, and I hope you enjoy more of Shift and Ike's...antics. Now go and read! **

We decided at one point that whatever we did, we would never go to the same college as everyone else at our school.

I've got to admit, though, it was Shift who determined this. Sometime ago, maybe in, like, April, Shift dragged me over to the Village Inn for a cup of coffee and that's where we discussed our plans. "We have to leave the state for college or something. After we graduate I never want to see any of those douchebags at school ever again," he insisted. And I had to agree with him, because I don't really like the idea of anyone I know breathing down my neck while I tried to get through another four years of school. They would point out all of my mistakes and it would be like I was living with my parents once again.

What do you think you're doing, Ike Broflovski? Why are you hanging out with that stupid goth kid?

And this is what I would tell them: "Because he's my friend, assholes." And maybe I would flip them off, too.

He's the only "friend" that I've picked up throughout my teenage years. That's right. Shift, also known as Charlie and formerly known as Kindergoth, was probably the only person I could imagine myself putting up with for the next few years. When we were at that diner way back, I had nodded and completely agreed with him.

I nodded then, and I was nodding several months later in the passenger seat of his car while music played on the radio. He had given up hours ago on trying to win back his Nine Inch Nails CDs and started pretending that he hated every single "conformist" song that played over and over again on the California pop radio station. I swear I caught him singing along a few times but he denied  
>all of my accusations.<p>

I knew his dark secret, though. He really doesn't hate popular music as much as he says he does.

In fact, I know a lot of things about him that most people don't.

Like... well, the first thing that comes to mind is his musical guilty pleasures, of course. He once told me that a goth that listens to Katy Perry was about as nonconformist as it gets.

Second; he's surprisingly strong. I mean, I was on a lot of sports teams before and he could still probably kick my ass if he wanted to.

Third; deep down underneath that dark exterior, he's really caring... for his multiple writing notebooks, for his cigarettes, for his car, and me occasionally.

I kept reminding myself of these things throughout the duration of that long drive. And then I remembered part way through that annoying "I Love College" song that we were on our way to check out a few college campuses. Through the few conversations we've had about school, I can't really sum up what our plans were.

Shift wants to become a freelance writer to pay for his school tuition. He said that he would take out a loan and sleep in his car if he had to.

I had to disapprove of this, however. We decided that wherever we went, we would stick together. Loans weren't especially a good idea to use, according to my dad, and there's no way I was sleeping in a car.

So the plans weren't set in stone yet at that point. Maybe that's why we were wandering around California; we needed to find a place to eat, to sleep, and a school that would possibly take in two teenagers searching for a higher education. But I think we mostly just wanted to get away from our home lives.

Fortunately for my parents, I didn't insist on bursting out into arguments with them like Kyle. I just felt sick of them, and sick of how they made mefeel under my own skin. When Kyle had come out, they had enforced their normality onto me and I was forced to be the perfect little angel that would make up for their real son. They figured out my own... orientation, though. They're just in utter denial, as Shift had said. And I was okay with that for now, as long as I was old enough to live away from them. California, at least, would be more accepting.

I turned to Shift, who'd been driving through the mountains since that morning with his eyes glued on the road, probably fueled by the few cups of coffee and a sip of my energy drink that he had had. This was all a déjà vu, only there are tons of trees around these roads instead of the vast expanding fields in  
>Colorado. That time we had a purpose, and this time we were just two guys on a road trip.<p>

"Ike, I swear I'm going to shoot somebody in the foot if I hear another fucking Ke$ha song. Turn the radio off." he grumbled.

"You know you like it."

"Turn it off! Change it! Just make it end." the car sped up a bit, a few miles over the speed limit. He looked sincere with how aggravated he was, so I pressed the power button.

"Tired?" I asked him.

"Dying."

"Pull over then, I need to take a leak anyway."

"Good for you." he waited to get to the nearest pull away point and pulled the abused car onto a dirt patch. The second we were stopped completely, he let out a big sigh and slouched forward so that his forehead hit the wheel. I told him that I would take over as soon as I was done and got out. Once I had  
>finished my business behind a pine tree with a conveniently placed roll of toilet paper, I returned to find him in the passenger seat with Peter Murphy blasting from the stereo.<p>

I ran around the side of the car and jumped in through the window. Shift raised an eyebrow and shook his head. There was a newspaper in his lap, probably from the last gas station we stopped at.

"Society's come to a sad, sad place." he offered the paper.

"Yeah, well, I thought you liked it that way." he rolled his eyes and I took the paper. There were several articles about the mysterious disappearance of a few people in L.A., a murder, some kind of political mayhem, the particularly special.

"It's not any better than South Park here, you know." I closed it and chucked the paper on top of the dashboard.

"Let's not make any judgments until we've actually been here for longer than a few days."

All I did was shrug before revving the engine up again.

For some unknown reason, in the pit of my stomach, I felt that life would get much more interesting from that point on. Maybe it would be a change of lifestyle, maybe it would be Shift, or maybe California was hiding some kind of deep, dark secret.


	2. Chapter 2: Starting

**TopHatGirl: Why hello there. Missed me? Yup, this chapter is written by me, TopHatGirl. By now, you've probably met the fabulous **ecrounox**'s work** **, my cowriter in all of this, who's playing Ike in our wonderful story. **

After touring in the hippie run place that is California, Ike and I furiously sent in applications for financial aid, scholarships, and anything that can get us in. We wrote about 20 essays combined for various colleges and toured just as many. These trips would usually end, exhausted, in a motel room surviving on coffee and bagels.

So when we both got the acceptance letter to University of San Francisco, it was worth it. It was a private school, quite pricey, and resided in one of the most expensive cities in California, but, they could maybe make it work.

"We could make it work, right?" Ike asked dubiously as we sat at the diner, reading over the letters.

"Yeah. I could write with the campus magazine and get paid for each article, and you could probably get a job, right?"

"Sure. There's this opening for teaching pee wee soccer," Ike said, stirring his coffee. I stuck out my tongue in distaste.

"Ugh. Children," he grumbled.

"I could get away from my parents..." Ike said dreamily, and got that far off look in his eyes.

"We could rent a cheap apartment."

"If we rent an apartment, we'd probably have to get some roommates to pay for it."

"Fuck. I hate people."

"What about me?" Ike asked with those huge orbs of eyes of his. I rolled my own eyes.

"Pending," I said.

Ike snorted. "Bullshit."

"You know, I could just change my mind about us going to college together..."

"And you'll lose about half of the budget," Ike pointed out, grinning. "Face it, you're stuck with me."

"For better of for worse," I muttered. I cleared my throat. "You sure you want to major in Psychology?"

"Sure as...I don't know, something that's sure?"

"I think the term is 'sure as sugar', Ike."

"Really? That's lame." he sipped his coffee. "What about you? You kept stressing for months if you were going to be a math engineer. Now suddenly you want to major in Creative Writing."

"What of it?" I asked, slightly defensive.

"Sorry, just asking."

I sighed, then relaxed my shoulders. "Sorry. I mean, I thought that I would really like all of the equations and shit. But Calculus kind of sucked, and I never was passionate about it." I really am passionate about writing. All of my old gothic friends _liked _writing, sure. But they just had empty stanzas of pain and sorrow. They hadn't actually felt pain and sorrow though. Technically, I hadn't either, but at least I didn't pretend I did. I wrote about confusion, finding stuff out, and generally being okay.

* * *

><p>"Mum, I'll be okay," I told my mother. She wiped her eye with a handkerchief, hugging her 'baby boy' one last time.<p>

"Charlie..." she coos.

"Yeah, Mum?" I asked.

"I know for the past few years, you've hated me. Probably you're entire life. I just want you to know that I love you. No matter what you wear, who you love, or who you choose to hate. You're my son, and as your mother, I deserve to care for you."

"You're getting kind of cheesy, Mum," I said, sighing.

"I don't care." She crumpled up her handkerchief. "Can...can I at least have a hug before I go?"

I rolled my eyes, and dutifully embrace her in a hug. She wiped her eyes, and I flipped her off, making my way down the driveway. Pulling out, I took one last glance at my home of 18 years, Mom lingering in the door frame.

_She'll be fine, _I lied to myself, shoulders relaxing just a bit. Pulling up in front of the Broflovski residence tensed me up again, though. Ike bounds out, suitcases slung over his shoulder, and hopped in the car, through the freakin' window. I learned that he does this to emphasize that he's fit too, and to feel less pathetic in front of me. Obliging to this, I always roll the window down.

How he manages to squeeze his body through it, I will probably never know.

I'm okay with that.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Ike demanded, shoving his shit in the backseat.

"Yes, sir," I joked, and revved the engine up, speeding down the street. Ike unfolded those oversized black sunglasses of his, and put them on carefully. "Those make you look really gay," I remark,

He flipped me off.

Oh, I have taught him the ways of the middle finger.

We approached the You Are Now Leaving South Park sign, and I sighed. "I am so extremely happy right now."

"Never look back?" Ike inquired, peering at me with covered eyes.

I turned to him, ignoring the driving hazards, and said, "Only to spit on it, babe."

Ike got that hilarious blush on his cheeks whenever I call him "babe". I hate using any nicknames that show affection, but really I just love watching him be embarrassed.

"California, here we come," he muttered under his breath.

Oh, yeah.

California should be scared shitless. We're in town.

BREAK.

For the first few hours, Ike decides that he loves to torture me. He turns it to every shitty pop station that is available in the dry towns we're passing through. Avril Lavigne, Bruno Mars, Gwen Stefani, anybody.

"I will fucking tear out that radio with bloody fingernails and toss it out the window, Ike," I warned him. He made a move to turn the volume up, and I slammed a fist down on his fingers.

"Ah!" he mock-cried, pulling back his hand like a hurt puppy. "You're so mean!"

"Did I ever tell you how much I hate you?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Everyday, Shift. Every. Day."

"Good, I thought you didn't get the message."

"You should be nicer to me, for one thing..." he launched into a long ass lecture about how much I depend on him, and I begin to zone in and out of the damn thing, focusing on the scenery. Taking long gulps of various energy drinks and coffee cups, a flash of orange distracts my sight, as well as the orange's stuck out thumb.

"What the-" I began. Ike followed my line of vision, and jolted out of his seat.

"IS THAT KENNY MCCORMICK?"


	3. Chapter 3: Opportunities

**TopHatGirl: Just to remind you, this chapter is not written by moi. It's by ecrounox. **

**ecrounox: Hello everyone, don't shoot me for no reason, I'm not immortal like Kenny.  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: Neither of us own South Park, it's characters, Comedy Central, or any of it's affiliates. Any accusations that we do can and will be taken seriously. **

* * *

><p>I was in the middle of waving my hands around, trying to elaborate on my feelings, when Shift finally speaks up. "What the-" he was staring down a hitchhiker on the side of the road that we were driving down. The asshole wasn't even paying attention to me, but whatever, I should be used to it.<p>

As we drove closer, I noticed that the hitchhiker was wearing some kind of orange jacket, and he looked seriously familiar.

His name was on the tip of my tongue. Someone from South Park? All the way out here? "IS THAT KENNY MCCORMICK?" I jumped when I finally got the name.

The car passed him. "I'm gonna pull over," Shift said, and the car pulled over onto the side of the road. I saw who we thought might have been Kenny approaching in the side view mirror, actually, he was more like jogging over.

"It _is_ Kenny," I mumbled to Shift. He shrugged, quickly taking the opportunity to turn the awful radio off. We haven't seen McCormick or his alter ego, Mysterion, since the damn Hot Topic burning that suddenly felt like it was yesterday. We rolled down the window for him as he got closer.

"Hey, you guys heading towards-" McCormick took one look at me, and I took my big "gay" sunglasses off so that it was easier for him to recognize me.

It took him a minute. "IKE?" his eyebrows raised.

"At your convenient service," I replied. Shift leaned over and made some kind of wave-like gesture. "Oh, yeah, you remember Shift, don't you?"

"Yeah, dude. Well, wow, this is kind of weird. How have you guys been?" Kenny ran a hand through his hair underneath his hood awkwardly.

"Good, I guess. Can't say the same for yourself," Shift told Kenny, rather loudly in _my_ ear.

Shift was right. Kenny looked like he'd just been in a bar fight or something close to it. His cheek was a bit swollen, his lip looked like it was cut and his right eye was definitely bruised. To top that, his orange hoodie was covered in spots of dirt. A pretty suspicious look for a 22-year-old.

He rested his hand on the hood of the car and arched his back. "It's a long story. All I can say is that I got in a fight with one of my friends and he kicked me out of his car here. Left my phone and all of my money in his back seat." He put his hands in his pockets and they came out empty, just to emphasize.

I wasn't sure if Shift believed his story, but I knew Kenny as an honest man. Feeling kind of empathetic towards him, I unlocked the backseat for my brother's old friend and told him, "Come on, get in."  
>Shift didn't protest. Kenny thanked us and climbed in. I noticed that he had a small limp in his step.<p>

"Careful with the stuff back there." Shift said. Kenny picked up a couple of empty plastic coffee cups and tossed them on top of some of Shift's boxes. He moved his legs around so that they were comfortable and slammed the door.

"Where to?" Shift asked.

"The nearest gas station is fine, I can make a call there and hopefully get off your back."

Whether or not that was true, Shift shrugged and managed to get back onto the road.

* * *

><p>Shift and I sat outside on the curb of some Nevada gas station. We were waiting for Kenny, who huddled with his back facing us and a pay phone in hand. Shift was analyzing the US road map for us, tracing his finger over Highway 80 and trying to see where it might take us into California. I leaned over, trying to see, completely thankful that the wind was carrying the smoke from his cigarette in the opposite direction. "We're about 30 miles away from Winnemucca. Should we find a motel there for the night?" he asked. "If we drive all day tomorrow, we'll be in California by nightfall."<p>

"Yeah, that's fine." I said, taking a bite of the nasty hotdog that I bought at the small convenience store at the gas station.

"How can you eat that shit?" he asked. I could tell in his eyes that he was craving a bite, since neither of us had eaten anything other than potato chips all day.

I shrugged and offered it to him. He glared at me for a second and took a bite, instantly spitting it out onto the concrete.

"Alright, we're getting something edible at our next stop." he took a drag of his cigarette. I snickered and looked up at Kenny as he walked over and stood above us.

"Okay, so," he clapped his hands and rubbed them together anxiously, "I just begged one of my bros for a good 20 minutes and he finally gave in. He's driving from a few miles away and we're going to Vegas for the weekend." He smiled wickedly. God knows what kind of shit he's going to get into in Vegas. "Yo, Shift, you got any of those death sticks that I can borrow?"

Shift glanced down at his cigarette and reluctantly pulled out his pack. "It's not borrowing if you're never going to give it back, genius." He dug around his jacket pocket for a lighter and handed the two objects to Kenny. The older man hastily lit the cigarette and carefully sat down beside me on the sidewalk with the stick between his teeth. He grunted and blew smoke out of his nostrils.

A few minutes passed of awkward silence. Shift spoke up first, "So, how did you end up trying to hitchhike in the middle of nowhere exactly?"

"Like I said, a long story. I don't wanna get into it. Ike here might tell dear Kyle, wherever he is, about the new lifestyle of Kenny McCormick."

I held my hands up in defense. "No I won't. I haven't spoken to him since he packed up his bags and moved to New York."

"Is that where he went? Hm." he and Shift simultaneously took drags of their cigarettes. "With Stan, I would assume."

"Yeah."

"Ah, I haven't talked to them in forever. I guess we all kind of grew apart. Screw Facebook if you can't access a god damned computer," Kenny muttered.

"Screw Facebook in general." Shift tossed his own cigarette to the ground, ignoring the fact that we were at a gas station still.

Kenny raised the eyebrow of his black eye. "Heh, I like this kid, Ike." he exhaled more smoke and the wind smothered my face with it. "You guys going in the same direction as Stan and Kyle?"

"Maybe you haven't looked at a map recently. New York isn't in the West," Shift replied.

"No, I meant, like, a 'boyfriends' kind of direction." he winked and snickered, and I could feel my cheeks getting red.

Neither of us answered.

_Damn it, McCormick, keep your mouth shut next time. Some people might take your implications offensively_.

In the back of my mind, I was reflecting back on all of the times I've been called a fag, how many people assumed that Shift and I were dating back at the high school, the multiple times I've had my head shoved in a toilet by some asshole whose standards I didn't live up to, my brother, and my parents. My thoughts were too swarmed to say anything. I was thinking that the same must have been true for Shift.

"Okay, I get it. It's cool." Kenny looked away, taking interest in a wad of squished fluorescent green gum on the pavement. He stood up and dusted his hands off on his jeans. "I kinda want to repay you for picking me up. It was really freaky seeing you again. Too bad I don't have any cash."

"Don't worry about it, Kenny," I told him. "You did save our asses back in Middle Park. We're basically paying you back."

"No, I'd like to be repaid for having to deal with your music tastes for the duration of that drive." Shift said, closing the map in his lap. Kenny had taken part in my sinister plan of pissing him off with pop radio. It was my idea, though.

"Don't make him do that, Shift," I said.

"It's fine, Ike. I might be able to help somehow. Where are you guys heading anyway?"

"We're going to San Fransisco for college, why?" I asked.

"Holy Shit. This is perfect." Kenny flicked his cigarette butt on the ground. "I've got friends there, too."

"Do you have friends living in every city or something?" I had to laugh. I kind of expected that from Kenny.

"Pretty much. Listen, are you old enough to get into clubs? I got a friend who is a DJ at this one nightclub and-"

"We're only 18." Shift said bluntly.

"Okay then." Kenny rubbed the back of his neck, probably thinking. "Then do you have a place to stay?"

I'm positive I wasn't the only one whose eyes lit up when he asked. "Not yet." I replied.

"Cool. 'Cause my amigo's grandma just died and her place is up for grabs. It's really cheap considering how no one wants to move into an apartment with history like that."

"Seriously?" I dropped the now cold hotdog to my feet. This was too good to be true. "We were hoping on figuring out living situations when we got there, but fuck that if you know some place."

"Where is it exactly?" Shift asked. "We were hoping on somewhere near the university there."

"I can't remember everything, dude. Let me call Craig up and ask." Kenny said, digging through his pants pocket for the quarters that we had given him for the pay phone. He walked back to the booth, leaving Shift and I behind.

I looked over and smiled at Shift, giving him a thumbs up. In return I was flipped off, but he was still smiling back.

Kenny returned momentarily with a crumbled receipt in hand. We stood up when we saw him and he offered the paper to us with an address scribbled on it, along with a phone number for the real estate agency.

I took the paper from him. "This is, like, right next to Haight Ashbury," I announced. "Which is kind of close to the university, I think."

"So, we definitely need to get this place, is that what you're saying?" Shift asked.

"Yes, yes we do." I turned to McCormick, who was standing with his hands in his pockets. "Thanks man, this is a better favor than just picking you up on the side of the highway."

"Are you glad I asked him for repayment then?" Shift smirked, putting the address and number in his own pocket.

"Shut up," I told him.

"You're welcome. Well, anyways guys, thanks for driving me here. I'm gonna go over to that casino down the road and wait for my friend to pick me up there. I'll see you around sometime, yeah?" Kenny said, probably pleased with himself for being able to help.

"Definitely. Seeya, Kenny." I waved as he began to walk away.

He suddenly turned back with a look on his face that meant he had something important to tell us.

"I usually give these to cute girls, but this is just so you know who to call whenever you get into any trouble. California's kind of dangerous." he whipped out some kind of business card and placed it in my hand. For a second, I wondered why he would have a business card in his pocket and not his money, but I took it anyway. It read in big bold green letters on a violet background, "MYSTERION." His number was on the back of the card underneath, "Wandering Crime Fighter." I'm guessing his alter ego was the reason why he had so many friends in so many places. Anyone was willing to help out a "superhero" if he could save their ass.

"Thanks, but I already have your phone number." I said.

"Shit. I need to get my phone back." he mumbled, stalking away with a limping stagger.

Shift and I walked in the opposite direction. Soon we were back inside the car with a full tank. It had grown darker outside and we were about ready to find a place to stay for the night.

"So, Winnemucca, right?" I asked, reaching for the stereo's volume button.

"Yep." He slapped my hand away. "Don't even think about it. I don't need to be reminded that I was 'born this way' for the 8th time today."


	4. Chapter 4: Unwanted Memories

"_Fucking faggot," I over heard coming from the men's bathroom. "Should we have gone in the girls bathroom instead," the voice continued. "'cuz you certainly aren't a man, fag."_

_Sucking on my cigarette, my ears perked up. Who the hell was in there?_

"_Fuck all of you guys," a gurgled voice protested. _

_Shit..._

_Taking my free hand, I shoved the red door open, marching in. Two football jocks were pushing someone's head down the toilet, unaware of me standing behind them. I casually tugged on the back of one of the asshole's collar, and toss him back into the south wall with ease. He hit the wall with a resounding thud, much to my pleasure. The other jock turned around, abandoning the tormented kid. _

_Jock __numéros deux__ and une had a look of horror plastered on their ugly faces. The second one's face hardens, curls his fist, taking a swing at me. He has power, put little aim or accuracy. Because of this, I easily sidestepped out of the way, feeling only air whoosh by me. _

"_Ow, that hurt," I deadpanned. This only pissed him off more, trying to grab my by my collar or neck or something. I responded by giving him an uppercut right in his square jaw. _

"_FUCK!" he shouted, stumbling back a few steps. The first jock, getting up from me tossing him, charges at me like a fucking bull. I nonchalantly squeezed the pressure nerve point on his neck, and he crumbles to the ground like ashes from fire. Jock #2 squeaked like a girl, and dashed out of the bathroom faster than a rabbit on crack. I opened the bathroom stall, returning to the bullied one._

"_Oh, Ike," I murmured sympathetically, looking at the smaller boy. His hair was soaking wet, dripping to his shoulders. He was huddled up on the floor, orb eyes staring up at me, on the bridge of tears._

"_Don't you 'oh, ike' me, Shift!" he said defiantly. "I don't need your pity. Or for you to swoop in and save me."_

"_Way to be grateful." I flipped him off, then outstretched my hand. _

"_Fuck you," he said, taking it, and I pulled him up. He bit his lip, and immediately wrapped me in one of those humongous 'Ike hugs'. I rolled my eyes, and after a few seconds, I pushed him off with force._

"_I hate those," I grumbled. Ike lightly punched my arm._

"_Liar," he accuses._

_We exit the bathroom, feeling shittier than ever._

_No end in sight. _

**.**

_**.**_

_**.**_

I blindly groped for the motel phone, putting it to my ear and snapping, "WHAT?"

"Sir," a woman began, unfazed, "I'm calling for your wake up call."

I squeezed the bridge of my nose, sighing. "Okay. Thank you." I slammed down the phone, and toss a dirty motel pillow at Ike, snoring in the opposite bed. "Get up, loser," I said.

"Fuck," he said, throwing off his covers. "Did you sleep okay?"

"No. Memory dreams," I explained.

"What memory?" he asked, pouring a mug of coffee.

I paused, debating to spill the details. He never liked to be reminded of the tortures of high school. "Uh, just random shit."

Ike raised his eyebrows, giving me a very dubious look. He shook it off, grabbing extra clothes from a suitcase. "Imma take a shower."

"Have fun," I muttered, gulping my scolding coffee. The newspaper headlines are really nothing special: murders in Ohio, zombie Apocalypse in Toronto, blah blah blah...

_**~if you want my body, and you think I'm sexy, come on sugar let me knowww~**_ Ike's phone rang out. After getting over the sheer second hand embarrassment that Ike's ringtone is Do Ya Think I'm Sexy, I answered it. Hey, if he didn't want me to answer his phone, he should've hid it better. Pfft, under the pillow. How ridiculous.

"Hello?"

"_Ike? Is that you?"_ a voice asks.

"Ike Broflovski is currently in the shower. May I ask what bastard is calling at six in the morning?" Mommy always taught me proper phone manners.

"_Ah," the voice coos. "This is Shift, isn't it?" _

"Maybe," I snapped. "Who the hell is this?"

"_It's Ike's brother, Kyle. May I ask why you're answering his phone, and why he's in the shower? Should I be angry?"_

"Yes. We had hot and heavy sex last night into the wee hours of the morning, and he had to take a break to wash off," I said, voice laced with heavy sarcasm so Kyle could know I'm kidding and that he shouldn't kick my ass. "Why are you calling? He hasn't heard from you in months."

Another memory.

_Rooftop of my car. Ike buried his face into my shirt, almost like a child. He doesn't say anything, just shivers uncontrollably. A few hours ago his brother had left for the Big Apple. Him and the 'rents got in a huge fight. Ike immediately came to me. _

_I'll take it as complimentary, I guess. _

_After a few silent filled moments, he speaks. "I hate them." His words are muffled by trench coat. _

"_Your parents?"_

"_I hate how they make me feel. I hate having to be ashamed whenever they look my way. That I'm not perfect enough for them because of my orientation."_

_I squeezed his hand, which has been clutching mine for quite a while. "Ike, are you even sure you're gay?"_

_He squirmed, turning his head so his eyes met mine. Oh shit, those eyes..._

"_Yeah."_

_Our hands stay together for the rest of the night._

I inwardly groaned. Goddamn, we have way too many cheesy heartfelt moments, don't we?

"_I just wanted to tell him that I want to visit him once he gets settled in his dorm."_

"We aren't going to be in a dorm."

"_Then where?"_

"An apartment."

There's a sudden gasp, and a clunk, like someone dropped the phone. The receiver crackles, then bursts back to life. _"You're sharing an apartment together?"_

I rubbed one of his temples with a free hand. "Yes. Kenny knows a friend of a friend of a friend with a dead ancestor or something. Or other. Shut up."

"_I don't know whether or not I should be furious, or proud."_

"Proud?" I asked, incredulous at this bastard's banter.

"_Yeah! Ike is taking a huge step! He couldn't even admit you guys were dating before..."_

Fuck my mother. "It's for convenience purposes! We're both broke!"

"_..."_ Kyle drew out. I hate when people do that. It makes me want to shove-

No, can't go there. Even if I'm stronger than the average pompous jackass who waltzes in, Kyle seems to have an element of bat shit insanity as an advantage.

"Okay, whatever. He's not coming out for a while."

"_Of the closet?"_

"Of the shower! THE SHOWER!" My voice is raising dangerous levels, so I cup a hand over the receiver. "Can you hang up now?"

"_Whatever, Kinder Goth."_

I will fucking kill that dick.

"_Tell him I called, 'kay?" _he asked.

"I'll call upon the spirits from the dark underworld to come up and cut your throat if you don't hang up right now," I growled. I could almost feel the eyeroll on the other end. After a click and a beeping sound, I just ended a conversation with Ike's older brother.

Speaking of Ike, he exited the bathroom, towel around his waist, and another in his hands, drying off his wild hair. He stuck out his tongue in disgust, claiming, "There was mold everywhere!"

"What a wimp." Back in my elementary days, the older goth kids would drag me along with long nails to filthy, foul hole in the walls, laced with toxic air.

Speaking of toxic air, I pulled out a blessed cancer stick and light up.

"Your turn to take a shower," Ike said, tossing a discolored towel at my face. I grumbled something even I don't understand, and shuffled my way to the motel bathroom.

It's exactly what you'd expect a motel bathroom to look like. Cracked mirror, dim lighting, scuzzy counter tops, and...

Shit, was that a blood stain?

He turned the knobs, blasting out a stream of freezing cold water. It was almost a relief, having some time alone to his thoughts. Or maybe that's a bad thing. Closing his eyes, he remembered again.

_Being tugged along by Henrietta, he trampled along the autumn leaves, struggling to keep up with the group. He hated being the smallest, with the smallest legs._

"_You know," he started, panting. "I'm going to get really tall, and strong, and you fuckers will be trailing behind __me__!" _

_Crow turned around to face him, amused smirk pulling at his lips. The rest of his face was cold hard, though. "Sure, Charlie. You'll be as tall as a building and be able to crush a rock in your fingertips."_

"_Shut up! Don't call me that!" _

"_Would you rather us call you KingerGoth again?"Henrietta mused. _

"_No! Fuck off! I'm nine now, not a stupid kindergartener!"_

_Red hummed, considering. "Midget here's right. I think he's ready."_

_Crow ran a free hand through his curly matted hair. "Really? Well then, at this gathering we'll tell the Elder." _

_Charlie squirmed. "What are you talking about?" He hated when they talked in cryptic about him, and he hated the Elder even more. So pompous. _

"_We're going to get you a title."_

_A smile quickly formed on his face. "Really? Like Crow or Red?"_

"_Yes, unless you want to keep smiling. Then we'll kick you to the curb," Red chastised. Charlie shut his mouth, and ran to keep up with them. They finally reached the abandoned cemetery, and Charlie closed his eyes as they went through the cobwebs into the mausoleum. He held his breath, because he was sure the dead could hear him breathing. Henrietta nudged him gently to open them again, and his eyes were met with the sight of hundreds of tiny candles and kneeling gothics. They all took their place in the front, the honored spots. Mostly it was reserved for the high schoolars, like Henrietta and all of them, but Charlie had been given a spot, because of he was with one of the most prestiged groups here. He should be grateful, but most of the time he was confused here._

"_All rise," the Elder said. Charlie sighed with relief, the dirt had been scraping his knees. The Elder was a woman, and she was callous, cunning, and a bitch to boot. "I've been told that one of our members is in need of a title." She beckons Charlie to rise with laqured purple nails and a flicker in her eyes. Henrietta pushes Charlie along, tugging on his arm. Elder gave a withering stare at Henrietta. "You're the guardian?"_

"_Yes," Henrietta growled. "Gotta problem with that?"_

"_You're my what?" Charlie asked. Henrietta shushed him._

_The Elder kneeled down to his eye level, studying him. She took a huge breath, and closed her eyes. "I sense he will be raised poorly in this sanctum. Under your guidance, he will stray into the light."_

_Henrietta's hand clenched. "Are you saying I'll be a bad guardian?"_

"_Or maybe he's not right for this. Either way, he'll shift alliances."_

"_Am not!" Charlie protested, not even sure what they're talking about. _

"_Shush, child," Elder demanded. "His title is Shift, and he will be known forth as that." _

_Henrietta sniffed, glaring at the Elder. "He'll be raised just fine. Come, Shift," she said, and led him back to his spot._

_Shift._

_He liked it._

"Shift, goddamn!" Ike called, banging on the door. "I know you like to have your angsty thoughts in the shower, but we need to hurry up!" I toweled off in a hurry, and brush my teeth.

"Let's go then," I said, exiting the bathroom and rummaging in my suitcase for my black pants and trench coat. I pulled on my pants, and still tried to find a shirt. Ike's breath hitched. I turned around, and he's redder than blood. "What?" I asked.

"You were...nak-" he shook his head vigorously. "Nothing. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Five cups of coffee later, and they were crossing the San Francisco Bay Bridge. Ike had been listening to his Metric CD on repeat for the past three hours. I didn't really mind it, but every time he pressed 'play' again, I made sure he knew my irritation.<p>

"Just because you're Canadian, doesn't mean you have to like Canadian bands," I reminded him.

Pulling up at an intersection, a police officer waved us off to the side, which was pretty hard because the entire streets were lined with cars. Flashing lights blinded us, and Ike peered out the window, and gasped.

"Holy crap, there's been a murder!" he pointed at the criss cross of caution tapes covering a shitty building with chipping paint. A crowd was gathering around, gawking at the scene. Spray painted on the door, read **ANOTHER PUNISHED, WE'LL BE BACK.**

I scoffed. "Typical. It's like they're saying, 'Welcome to San Francisco.'"

"Let's just get to our new home," Ike grumbled.

I obeyed whole heartedly.


	5. Chapter 5: Smells Like Dead Spirits

**ecrounox: Good den, everyone, I come baring a chapter for you. It turned out longer than expected. Enjoy.**

**There is nothing more creative or witty to be said.**

* * *

><p>If figuring out the location of Kenny's alleged up-for-grabs apartment was a task, actually getting to it and taking a look around was brutal.<p>

After wandering around, asking any sober hipster in sight for directions, we finally stumbled upon the three-story building. It looked like it had been through a lot, and from what I know about the location, it's probably been the sight of several hippie drug parties. _This city is so full of surprises_.

Shift looked up from the little piece of paper with our (hopefully) new address scribbled upon it. For about a minute or two, we just stood there, analyzing the apartment's grayish-yellow stone walls and tacky brown finish from the patio. The first floor seemed pretty damn dead, but there was at least some kind of light on in the second floor window from what I could tell.

"Looks like an old lady lives here." Shift scoffed, stomping his cigarette into the pavement. Glass from a broken beer bottle crunched underneath his boots.

"An old lady did live here."

"I bet she still does. In the form of a ghost, of course." he smirked. "A ghost that preys on young Canadian boys."

"Go fuck yourself," I shot back, "and go ring the third doorbell while you're at it."

He just shrugged. "Don't mind if I do." He then made a swift movement closer to the door, taking note of the decaying plants in the window.

It took him a while to figure out the multiple bell/buzzer system, and an even longer amount of time for someone to answer.

A middle-aged woman opened the door, looking expectantly between the two of us, trying to fix her hair up a bit and failing. Shift almost flinched just looking at her and her long frizzy locks and bugged out eyes. Total hippie.

"Yes?" she asked, saying nothing more.

"Uh, yeah, you're the landlady, right?" Shift took a step back.

"Oh, yep. Mhm." she smiled, looking almost birdlike. "You wouldn't happen to be those two boys who were looking to take Mrs. Tucker's apartment, are you?"

"Yes, that's us. We left you a voice-mail earlier." I moved forward, arm stretched out for a handshake. "My name is Ike, and this is Char-" he sent me a glare, "Ahem, Shift."

The landlady placed her hand on her hip, not giving it up for a formal greeting. "Isn't it weird?" she started saying. "It feels like that old coot was just knocking on my door yesterday, asking if she could borrow my husband's garden tools. Funny how people can just, poof! Disappear from your life just like that."

Shift and I exchanged glances. I'm pretty certain he was fighting the urge to say, "It's all a big conspiracy, man."

Screw creative writing; he should get a degree in sarcasm. Or theater, if they don't offer that.

He gave me a warning glare, telling me to reply to the woman so that he didn't have to.

"Yeah, I can understand your grief." I said.

"My grief? Are you kidding? I'm glad she's gone. She played nothing but old time jazz. Still, you two seem like interesting modern people. I'm sure that, in time, I can learn to like you." she grinned, acting all warm and welcoming.

Ha. Interesting modern people.

Shift made some kind of quiet chuckle, or scoff, or something similar to that. "So, are you going to show us around or what? I mean, we're a little desperate to get a place since school's starting in a few weeks and-"

"Oh, I can give you a tour. I can't really talk business with you, that's my husband's duty, but he'll be home soon for dinner." she smiled some more, staring off past the houses across the street. And, almost as though she'd just returned from a different continent, she asked, "Would you boys like some dinner, too? 'Course, I'm making one of my vegan dishes, you might not like it."

"Whatever is fine." Shift said, clearly impatient with the woman standing before us who had most likely done a bit of acid back in the day. Or maybe he really was hungry for anything. Chips and coffee don't make for a sufficient diet.

"I'm sorry, I forgot about my name. You can call me June." and with that, June led us inside of the musty smelling home.

* * *

><p>Soon we had carefully inched our way through the entire first floor of the building. Up the staircase in the third floor hallway, June and her husband, Peter, lived their "humble" lives. If we ended up moving in, which seemed very realistic at this point, we were never to go upstairs without permission or onto the roof.<p>

There were two other tenants who shared the second floor, the one above ours. I didn't think Shift would be too pleased if he ever had to deal with either of them.

Everyone seemed to use the front porch for smoking, or just to hang around and drink and yell at the little neighborhood kids.

Thankfully, though, the first story and basement would be ours.

Of course, the basement was still packed with the old lady's boxes, and probably a shit load of spiders. June wasn't sure when the family would come and collect her things, but until they did, the furniture was ours for the taking.

But who wants furniture that was owned by a deceased woman?

Surely it would cut down on our costs, but the century old bed was out. So was the couch. The dresser was filled with moth balls. And we couldn't appear remotely masculine with floral-print wallpaper and wood paneling.

Shift stood beside me as I made a mental checklist of things to throw out. He ran his fingers along the dusty bookshelves, leaving trails of clean wood behind them.

"We're keeping these books, just so you know." he said, pulling some 19th-century classics off the shelf. "They'd be good for my classes."

I only nodded, going back to checking the coffee table for stability.

"Which room do you think she died in? I'm calling dibs on it." he hovered over me, now kicking the ornate rugs and sending dust into the air.

"Were you planning on us sleeping in different rooms?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you want, babe."

I cringed, turning my head in the opposite direction so that he couldn't see the heat exploding on my face. "Dude, I get the creeps just being here and knowing that someone has _died _in this house. You know I hate the idea of ghosts."

"Who said there were going to be ghosts here?"

"I believe that was you. You would just love to see me being swooped away by a Canadian-loving ghoul, wouldn't you?" I heard him snickering, but when I looked him in the eyes his expression returned to its usual "get the hell away from me" look. "I'm being serious here, asshole."

"Fine. If you need me by your side every second of your unconscious hours, I'll be glad to endure your sleeping habits."

"You're one to talk. Sleep apnea, tossing and turning, reoccurring dreams..." I counted off on my fingers.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He crossed his arms and went back to staring at the book collection. "Don't you think the landlords will think it's suspicious that two guys are moving in together? Let alone, in a one-bedroom place."

"You know, I thought of that earlier," I replied, slumping down onto the lumpy green couch, "and I've come to the conclusion that no one seems to care in San Francisco. I mean, we are, like, kind of a couple, aren't we? It shouldn't matter what the landlords think as long as they don't kick us out."

He shrugged and joined me on the sofa. "Good enough."

* * *

><p>Dinner with the landlords went seemingly smoothly, and rather productively. I was right, Shift really didn't care what he was eating; he was stuffing his face full of organic greens and brown rice. The only disappointment of the meal was that the Baptiste family didn't own coffee, or a coffee maker, and so we drank an experimental blend of mint and citrus tea that June had made.<p>

"Coffee maker" was added to our list of things to buy.

Their home looked almost identical to the one downstairs, give or take a few decorations. Because June was the one who worked at home, the apartment was decorated in her sunflower theme. Her husband didn't seem to mind losing his choice in the matter.

He also seemed eager to have someone take over Mrs. Tucker's apartment downstairs. "As long as you're a friend of a friend of a relative of Mrs. Tucker, and not a complete stranger, it's good enough for me." Because the distant relationship with an old lady neither of us had met was sufficient for him.

Fortunately for us, Granny Tucker had been renting her home, and so there weren't any legal ownership matters to attend to. The entire building was owned by the Baptistes. They merely rented out floors to "trustworthy" people.

No one was certain of how the elderly woman had died, it was probably due to elderly woman illnesses, but it turns out she'd passed away in her bedroom. I had a feeling I wasn't going to go in there for a while.

They were pretty nice about everything, though. Mr. Baptiste, or Peter, even offered to let us stay for free until we started getting a consistent income from whatever job we got. He accepted us so quickly because, unlike most other people, we were so desperate to find a place to stay (regardless of historical background).

And I'm completely okay with that.

As long as we have a roof over our heads.

* * *

><p>After about a week of legal paperwork, documents, dumping all of our possessions into the front room, and multiple dinners of Chinese take-out, Shift and I were (un)officially moved into our new place. Now all that was left was... adjusting to the new environment.<p>

It must have taken him at least three hours just to get me to settle down for the night.

The bedroom smelt of perfume and the dead skin cells of a woman in her late 70's. The floorboards were creaking underneath our neighbors above us. The street lights buzzed from outside of the window. Some kind of drunken bar fight was happening down the street. Shift played his favorite Sisters of Mercy album before we got in bed.

He kept telling me, "Just chill out, alright? Get some sleep."

But I had been staring at the ceiling in the dark with my hands crossed over my chest for twenty minutes.

And Shift was sound asleep beside me, arm flung over the side of the mattress as he snored loudly. Peaceful as could be.

Nothing like this could scare the shit out of him since he's lived in the darkness of the night for the past however many years.

I honestly felt like punching him awake, but that wouldn't do either of us any good. Like he said, we both needed sleep. Come tomorrow and we'd both be swamped with college work to do on top of finding jobs, putting together enough money for rent, electricity bills, gas bills, groceries, and coffee.

Thinking wasn't going to help my insomnia.

I decided to creep out of bed and into the kitchen, where a leftover container of barbecue pork sat waiting for me in the crusty old fridge.

Never mind my parents' twisted kosher rules, I was determined to eat that damned pig if it was the last thing I did. Anything other than City-Wok was to be savored.

With a spoonful of cold meat stuffed in my mouth and a florescent light hanging overhead, I wondered how many of our Jewish customs Kyle had broken as well. It was the best topic I could think of to quell my stress-related thoughts.

Come to think of it, Shift had mentioned Kyle calling my phone a few times. Shit, where have I been all of this time?

Screw it, I didn't care if it was 3 hours later in New York, I called him anyways.

The other line surprisingly picked up after I had redialed a third or fourth time, and an aggravated older brother hissed into the phone, "What!"

I figured he would take a first class plane trip over to shoot me in the foot if I told him that I couldn't sleep, so instead I replied, "I've been informed that you wanted to talk to me."

"Yes, I did, but not at 4-fucking-30 in the morning! I have work tomorrow, Ike!" he was whispering harsh, stinging words into the speaker of my cell phone. Another piece of pork entered my mouth via chopsticks as I waited for him to cool down. "Ugh, alright, just give me a second and I'll _talk _to you." he continued.

Moments later, the other line made shuffled noises and Kyle spoke, "F-fuck, I almost woke Stan up just now. What do you really want, Ike?"

"What, I can't talk to my own brother after months of not hearing from him? Shouldn't I be asking what you wanted from me in the first place?"

"Fine, let's talk then. I'm wide awake anyways." he sighed. "You guys in San Fran yet?"

"Yep, and it couldn't be any better. We spent all of our cash on motels, and now we're living in an elaborate setup of cardboard boxes in the most dangerous part of town."

"Aw, how cute, Shift's awful sarcasm has rubbed off on you." Kyle cooed, just asking for me to punch him in his gut. "So, I take it things are well?"

"You could say that." I said, cheeks filled with barbecue. I swallowed, muttering, "Well, we got this apartment. It's pretty nice, it has a great location since the university's close by, but it wreaks of death and feminine decor."

"It can't be worse than the townhouse that mom and dad got when we lived there for a while."

"Much, much worse."

"Oh, quit complaining. You'll get used to it."

"Kyle, a woman died in the bed that I was just trying to sleep in."

"Wait, you called me because you couldn't sleep, didn't you?"

Shit. He caught me.

"Well, how can you blame me? Shift has been snoring a lot more lately, plus he keeps telling me that the ghost of the lady who lived here is going to take me away because she has a fetish for Canadian boys."

"Wake him up, I need to talk to that arrogant little prick."

"No, Kyle, that really isn't necessary."

"Ike-" I put my hand over the speaker when I noticed an ominous shadow inching its way into the kitchen. I knew it was Shift, but I couldn't help but be more than cautious and took a step back. He got closer, looking up at me from underneath his black hair.

"What are you doing up?" he mumbled, reaching for the thrift store coffee maker he'd bought days before.

"I was talking with my brother." I replied, lifting my hand from the phone's speaker. "He says he wants to talk to you."

Shift grunted, pouring imaginary coffee into a mug in his daze, "What gave him the idea that I wanted to talk to him?"

Kyle was muttering things on the other line of the phone. I returned my attention to him, "Is there anything else you would like to say, dude?"

"I only have one important thing that I wanted to tell you originally. Now that you seem to be settled, I'm going to try and visit you." he said. There was a brief pause before he added, "Oh, and you might want to hide Shift for a while. Mom and dad might be visiting you, too."

"Thanks, now I have another thing to worry about."

Kyle quietly laughed to himself, finding great amusement in my current mental state. "One more thing," he said, "I really do need to say something to Shift."

"Alright, he seems to be too out of it to care at the moment. Good night." I replied, offering the phone to him. Shift took it from me, setting down his empty mug on the counter.

As I put the leftover Chinese food back into the fridge, I heard him asking Kyle, "You want me to what?" Then seconds later, "Okay, fine."

He immediately disconnected the line. I looked up at him as he smiled, very briefly, and arched his back. "What does he want you to do?" I asked.

"Nothing."

I raised my brow.

"Alright, I'll tell you if you can manage to get back in bed without wetting yourself."

I rolled my eyes before following him through the pitch black living room and back into the bedroom. He crawled back into his initial position under the blanket and waited for me as I, quite awkwardly, tried to do the same.

The springs in the old mattress creaked and instantly reminded me of Mrs. Tucker taking her final breaths on this very bed. Shift's reassuring hand, however, pulled me down so that my face was mashed against his black t-shirt.

No longer was the mental image of a decrepit woman's body in my mind, but instead the nostalgic memories of our high school ventures, where we laid exactly like this on the roof of Shift's car and stared silently at the night sky.

Muffled by his shirt, I asked him, "So, what did he tell you to do?"

"Help you fall asleep." he replied, arm resting on my shoulder.

"Have I mentioned that you don't have to take him seriously?"

He said nothing and let out an elongated exhale. I wanted to tell him that what we were doing was entirely gay, but he would say something along the lines of, "the pot calls the kettle black." So I gave in and fell asleep listening to his harsh breathing and my clairvoyant thoughts regarding the new school semester ahead.

* * *

><p><strong>Here is the place where we stick bumper stickers that read, "How's my driving?" R&amp;R, please, feedback is appreciated :)<br>**


	6. Chapter 6: New Leads

**TopHatGirl: holy crap, I didn't mean for this to be this freakin' long. I just started typing and ended up at over 4000. Oh well, enjoy anyways. **

Sweat dripping down my forehead, my eyes open to the moonlight streaming in through the tiny window in the corner. I squirmed around, loosely feeling around to remember where I was.

_Where the hell am I?_

Then I felt the sleeping body clutching parts of my arm, eyebrows furrowed in a look of distress. San Francisco. My new home. That's where I am. In other words, free. But that's not important right now. There's sound coming from above my head, like the bass from a stereo. Judging by the fact that it sounds like heavy metal, not hippie shit, it's not from the old folks owning this apartment. I collapsed back on my pillow, on top of the mattress. Ike stirs gently next to me, mumbling something incoherent. If I concentrated, there's also the sound of a leaky faucet dripping from the tiny bathroom, and light breathing. Outside of the building, there's the sound of police sirens blaring in the distance, and shouts in another language. Chinese, or something.

Colorado was so quiet.

This new place will take some getting used to.

I stretched out my arm to grasp my suitcase, and yanked it towards me, careful not to wake Ike. Unzipping the front pocket, I pulled out my pocket-watch, and squinted to read the time in the darkness. 4:05 am.

What jackass has heavy metal on at 4 in the morning?

I raised my hand to wipe the sweat off of my forehead, another thing I'm not used to in San Francisco. The heat. The actual absence of snow. I lean my head back on the pillow, trying to block out the noise. Getting back to sleep sounds really good right now...

"Shift..." a voice whines, shaking my shoulders. "Shift?" I ignored the voice, wanting to sleep some more. "Charlie!" it finally snapped, and I stirred from my two second rest, meeting the blue orbs of Ike's eyes.

"I see her, Charlie." He's trembling, and I don't dare break eye contact.

"Her ghost, Ike?" I asked softly. He nodded silently, tears brimming his eyes. He clutched my hand, breathing heavily. "Close your eyes, okay?" Again, only a nod. He squeezed his eyes shit, and I slowly laid him back on the sleeping bag, his hand still grabbing mine.

Yells and shouts echoed through the walls, and the police sirens were even louder. Then a scream.

Okay, he has to check this out.

* * *

><p><em>JEFF POV<em>

"Shit," Jeff gruffed, and his hand hovered above his gun, tucked into his belt. "We have a suspected homicide, near Haight," he said into his walkie talkie. "Send investigators."

"_Roger that," _came the muffled reply. Jeff nodded at his partners, and kicked at the deteriorating door, and it collapsed in on itself. Steadily moving in, the whiff of blood and burnt fabric caught at his nostrils. The white house behind the one of the old cafes was rapidly becoming a very interesting case. Kicking at a broken lamp, Jeff stared up at the one light bulb on the ceiling, flickering on and off. A cat jumped off a nearby end table, stroking his right leg with his head. He jerked his foot away, pulling the gun out of his case. The cat literally smirked at him.

"Don't point your gun at a damn cat, Jeff," the detective to the other side of him snarled. Jeff nodded, and blindly grabbed at one of the doorknobs in the conjoined hallway, shoving his way in/

Bathroom.

Shaving cream was smeared across the black and white tiles, and the mirror had a large crack in it. Fear lingered in the back of Jeff's throat; he was only a rookie, after all. People like Tared and Motter had years of experience in homicide victims. This was one hella've a crime scene.

He gingerly pulled back at the lime green shower curtains, and chocked on his own spit at the splatter of blood drenched across the back wall. The body was thrown in the tub, pale and lifeless. In scrawled sharpie handwriting, the word 'CONFROMIST' read across his forehead.

Jeff breathed heavily, bending down and reaching for his walkie talkie.

"Body location confirmed. Send 'em in."

Clicking off the mic, Jeff swore, staring in the eyes of the victim. Female. Aged around twenty. Abecrombie & Fitch shirt, with some brand name jeans. All makeup is smudged across her face, as well as lipstick wiped off. Multiple wounds in stomach, forehead still hemorrhaging.

"Is this her?" Motter asked, appearing behind him, pen clicked and ready to write a full report.

Jeff turned to him, color lost from his face. "I never expected this."

"You never expect this in the cop world, Jeff. It just hits you right in this face, and all you can do is hope you can still fucking sleep at night."

"Grim," Jeff remarked, standing up.

"What's the situation?" An inspector barked, rushing into the scene of the crime. Two other medics and one assistant crammed in as well, making for a claustrophobic area.

As Motter swoops in to asses the scene and act like a douche, Jeff rubs his temples and steps back outside, greeted with flashing lights and reporters chattering away.

"Detective!" one calls, shoving a microphone in his face. "Can you give us an assessment of the situation we have here?"

Jeff sighed. "I am not allowed to divulge any information regarding this case at this time, thank you."

"What about the accusations about this being a raid performed by a cult?" another reporter asks.

"Thank you!" Jeff repeated, and shoved the crowd away, making it to the sidewalk. The sun was peaking up, and it was too damn early to think about what he just saw.

Someone tapped on his shoulder, and Jeff glanced in the direction. An older teenager, maybe around 18 or 19, rubbed his chin and looked Jeff up and down. He was wearing a rumpled trench coat, torn black jeans from many uses, and washed out fingerless gloves.

"Officer, what just happened?" he asked, poker faced.

"Kid, I really can't tell you-"

"I live next door," he cut Jeff off. "If my partner or I-" he paused, muttering to himself something imperceptible, "are in danger, I want to know."

Partner? This kid looks a little young to be having committed relationships.

Or maybe he means business.

"What's your name?" Jeff asked, straightening up and pulling out a pen from his front pocket.

"Shif-" he shook his head, again muttering. "Charlie." he bit his lip. "Uh, Charlie Broflovski."

He didn't have a pen, so he resolved on writing on his forearm. "And your...partner?"

"Ike Broflovski."

"Okay. I might have to ask you to be interviewed."

"Why the fuck do I have to? I just asked," Charlie demanded.

"You live near here, you might know some odd things about your neighbor."

"I've been living there all of eight hours or so."

Jeff tilted his head. "Okay, now I definitely have to question you. Where will you be between the time of 12pm and 5pm tomorrow?"

"In class. First day of school tomorrow."

"University of San Fran? Senior?"

"Freshman."

"I'll see you at six, then."

"Negative first floor, Officer," Charlie said cheerily, and sauntered off.

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose, and clicked the pen off. This world.

* * *

><p>SHIFT'S POV<p>

I collapsed back onto my sleeping bag, Ike still snoozing peacefully, not aware that I had gone. Maybe I could finally close my eyes and rest...

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Goddamnit Ike, turn off your damn phone!" I screeched, kicking him in the shin with my bare foot. He grumbled, turning over onto his side and picking up his phone, squinting at the screen.

"It's my phone alarm, fucker," he grunts, pressing a button on the side. The incessant beeping ceases. "Time for your first day of school, Shift," he announced, sitting up and running a hand through bedraggled hair.

I sighed. "Fuck. Do I have time to shower?"

"Nope."

"Fuck!"

I pulled out a cigarette, and eagerly lit up. Blowing smoke in Ike's general direction, I stood up, stretching.

"Why are you already dressed?" Ike asked, pulling on some jeans.

"I had an early morning stroll."

"You WHAT?" Ike whipped around, which reminded me eerily of his mother.

"Don't stress, babe," I cooed, watching Ike's face turning a bright red. "There was a murder scene a couple of doors down, went to check it out."

"Oh." His shoulders relaxed a bit. "You' could have been hurt."

I snorted. "You're so ridiculous, babe." He huffed, and loaded up a huge backpack for both him and me. He tossed the black one at me, and slung one on his own shoulder. I realized with horror that I would not be able to have coffee this morning, then Ike reassures me that we would stop at a convenience store and buy some cheap coffee.

Ike insists that we say goodbye to the hippie folk before we leave, and they manage to reel us in to eat some vegan breakfast shit. After a while, we're finally out the door.

"Gah!" Ike stutters, stumbling back into me as we step out the door.

"Hello," a sultry voice greets. The figure stood from their gardening,grins close lipped. "I'm Sapphire," she greeted.

She.

Yeah.

There's a drag queen transvestite gardening on the apartment lawn. At ten in the morning. In broad daylight.

So California is more accepting.

"Oh honey, can I have a drag of that?" she asked, talking to me. She didn't wait for an answer, high heels clicking as she made her way toward me. She snatched the cancer stick from my nimble fingers, in her meaty ones. She places the cigarette in-between her red lipsticked lips, taking a deep drag, then handing it back to me, eyeshadow lids blinking flirtatiously. Ike is still shocked from the sight. "Thanks, hon. I needed that." she goes back to her gardening. "Oh, by the way, I'm your new neighbor, living on the third floor."

"Nice to meet you," I lied. Lesbian, gay, transgender, bi, I don't give a fuck. But smoking my cigarettes is a no no.

I dragged Ike along to our car, and he climbed in through the window. "So, in my head, do I refer to Sapphire as a he or a she?"

"She," I clarified. "You call them by what they want to be*."

"How do you know?"

"Writing classes," I grumbled.

It's only a couple of blocks to the school, and eventually we're pulling into the parking lot of our new high education.

University of San Francisco.

People were gathered in groups, chattering incessantly. There was a game of Frisbee going on, and an African drums session. I took a long inhale of my cigarette.

"This is it," I said. Ike momentarily grabs my hand, squeezes it, and lets go. I appreciate the guesture.

Our new life.

* * *

><p>CHRISTOPHE POV<p>

"FUCKING ASS'OLES!" I shouted, running like mad, shovel propped on my shoulder.

"STOP!" One of those damn cops yelled. Yeah, like that ever fucking worked. The pavement slapped against my boots, wind rushing past my face, swishing through my dirty hair. Looking behind me, the police were quickly catching up to me. I really wish I had a cigarette in my mouth. I searched the deserted streets for an escape. It came to me in the means of a fire escape ladder attached to a tall apartment building. It was up too high to reach from ground level, so I had to leap onto one of those garbage holder things, hoisting up with a free arm. Losing no time to get an accurate aim, I jumped from the green metal to the ladder, grasped on the bottom rung, and scrambled up. The cops paused, taking their guns out to aim at me.

"Sheeeeet!" I cursed, and pushed up on to the roof. I looked around, surveying the rooftop.

"You're surrounded, you French asshole!" a cop yelled from the roof. Rolling my eyes, I did not take the announcement to heart. I have had tons of American cops saying that to me, like we were in a fucking action movie. San Francisco was no different.

I looked down below, and the cops were just fucking standing there. I took the opportunity to pull out my last cigarette from my shirt pocket, and light up. I blow smoke into the wind, watching it drift in the ocean's direction. I inhale a deep breath, and shout, "LICK MY ASS, YOU COCKSUCKERS!"

Then I was running again, leaping to the next building. I miscalculated the distance, and I missed the ledge. Wildly flailing, I managed to grasp the very edge of the roof, and hoist my weight again. I kept running and jumping, not used to the vastly different heights of buildings in this city.

Eventually, I got caught.

The next building I leaped to already had an occupant there. The man was in a blue cop shirt, and held a gun up.

"Freeze," he demanded.

"Sheet," I cursed again, but put my hands above my head.

"You've been caught, you have the right to remain silent..." the list goes on and on as the faggot cuffs my wrists up.

"Yeah. I 'ave 'eard zis all before, ass'ole." I spat on the ground, and wiped my mouth on my sleeve. "Just let me keep ze damn shovel, and I will go witzh you."

The cop raised an eyebrow, dubious, but shrugged. "Whatever."

The police car smelled like sweat and donkey shit. The shovel banged against my back, making it uncomfortable to lean back. The two cops in the front seat were discussing my list of crimes.

"This kid is down for armed robberies, kidnapping, trespassing private property-"

"I am not a damned kid, you ass'oles!" I protested, kicking the back of their seats. They let me also keep my cigarette, though it's hard to keep in my mouth with my hands tied. Ash fell to the bottom of the car, and I make sure to smash it into the carpet. Serves them right. A twenty two year old is not a fucking kid.

"and maybe possible murder of several drug lords, not that I'm complaining-"

"Oui, I am proud of zhat too, cocksucker," I added in.

"-and he gets caught stealing some fucking cigarettes."

"Which you fuckers made me drop!" I kicked their seats some more.

"Can we tape his mouth?" the driver asked, glancing back at me.

"No, the boss wants him in pristine condition, has a proposition for this one."

"What makes you zeenk I would do anyzeeng for zhis boss of yours?"

They both just smile, and keep driving.

* * *

><p>SHIFT POV<p>

"Creative Writing 201," I read off of my schedule.

"Sociology 1," Ike read off of his.

"Good luck in your class," I said monotonously, gulping. Ike smiled, and gave me a brief kiss on the cheek before fluttering off. I growled. What a teenage girl. I rubbed the spot where his lips touched my skin, wanting to get rid of the ghost feeling of it. I grunted, and turned back to the vast campus. Where the hell do I start?

"Freshman?" a tall looking boy asked, smiling wide. He has wild brown hair, and eager blue eyes.

"Is that a question?" I asked scathingly.

He ignored my bitter comment, going on, "I'm a Junior here. What's your major?"

"Creative Writing."

"Ah, they call that the 'wanderer's major.'."

"What the hell does that mean?"

The boy held his hands up. "Sorry, didn't mean for you to take offense. It's just because freshman in the CW major usually change their major about five times, then go back to creative writing."

"That's probably me. I thought I wanted to be a mathematical engineer."

"Whoa, big leap! I'm a Humanities major."

"And you judge my major," I grumbled to myself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Look, do you still need my help to find your class?" he asked. "Your boyfriend was going in the wrong direction, by the way."

"My boyf-"

"It's cool dude, I'm open minded," he said, bumping my shoulder. I flinched at the contact.

"How did you know he was in the wrong direction?"

"Because he was going in the Arts department area. He didn't look like an arty, they usually have the ignorant 'holier-than-thou-because-I-shop-at-thrift-stores' look."

I'm starting to like this kid better.

"He looks more eager and innocent, looking to please. If I had to take a guess, I would say he's in one of the social sciences."

"Very observant," I complimented.

"Am I right?"

"Yes," I admit regretfully. The guy fist pumped.

"Awesome. I'm Mitch, by the way."

"Shift," I introduced, and shook his hand dutifully. "Can you still show me where I'm going?"

There were about 30 other students in the classroom, and I slammed my books down next to guy who was picking the underneath of his nails with a safety pin. I swore I saw droplets of blood.

"They're after me," he whispered as I pulled out my notebook.

"Okay," I said. The teacher introduced himself as Mr. Pseudonymous, which earned a few chuckles from the class. I didn't chuckle. I hate witty people. While he was discussing the nature of creative writing, I opened my notebook. On the inside cover there was a sticky note.

_**Shift-**_

_**Good luck in class. You'll do awesome. **_

_**Don't call the teacher an asshole.**_

_**Please.**_

_**-Ike.**_

I smiled to myself, and began to scribble out a poem in one of the pages.

_I am without feelings, at times._

_The words cut out from me,_

_leaving throats closed,_

_feelings lost,_

_eyes shut._

_At times,_

_there are ways for me to speak,_

_and when I do speak, it is in hatred._

_I am bitter, not have tasted sweet in years._

_Thoughts are black, and I wear them,_

_proud and willing,_

_not flinching to enforce it on the word. _

_I do not get pleasure from insults,_

_I get it from results,_

_the rehabilitation._

_It gets hard, at times._

_To keep stable, to keep from _

_sinking._

_There's never been someone_

_to hold up the world_

_for me. Open the door,_

_for me._

_I found that someone,_

_when I spoke,_

_not in hatred,_

_but in revelations._

_At times,_

_I have found solace_

_in the rhythms of an _

_emotion,_

_and the fragility of a_

_feeling._

_To that comfort,_

_I plead it to_

_never leave, _

_and I continue to _

_beg, even _

_when it left. _

_At times, I am alone._

_At those times,_

_I can no longer keep my eyes_

_open._

"Excuse me, Mr-" the teacher said, clearing his throat at me.

"Mr. Broflovski, sir." I liked the fake name, and I think I'll keep it up. It has a nice ring to it.

"Mr. Broflovski, what are you writing? I don't think I've said anything note worthy in this lecture."

"Poetry," I clarified, and go back to my writing.

"Is my lecture not interesting?"

I looked up, meeting his eyes. "Not really. I don't see how the history of creative writing will actually help us with our writing."

"Is that why you're here? To get writing tips?"

I shrugged. "Guess so."

"Well, let's see if you even need help," Mr. P said, taking the notebook from under my nose.

Damn private colleges and their damn smaller classes. Damn me for taking a small class in a small class college.

He read over the current poem I wrote, grunting along the way. He set it back down on the table. "Interesting use of repetition. What do you call it?"

"Condolences To the Empty Shell Without a Mate," I said, just making it up.

"Interesting..." he repeats. He straightened himself, turning back to the rest of the class. "Now can anyone explain the different ways poetry has contributed to society..."

* * *

><p>CHRISTOPHE POV<p>

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Christophe duBois-" I snorted at the fake surname I had come up with years ago- "pages long of all criminal offenses. Pretty young to be a mercenary for hire."

"Fuck you," I grumbled, having lost my energy, but not my bite, a long time ago.

"Hey, you better not get on my bad side, because I have a proposition for you." The police commissioner , or whatever they call it here in America, is a very bulky man. Which isn't saying much, do to my small stature and skinny bones.

"What kind of propoziztion, commissioner?" I asked, arms crossed over my chest.

They took my fucking shovel.

I feel empty.

"You work for us, help us catch some killers, and we clear your criminal record."

"Clear eet? Will you make eet, 'ow you American cocksuckers say, 'squeaky clean'?"

"Yes."

"Fucking dirty proposition, no?" I snorted. "Fine, whatever. What ees eet you want me to do?"

"There's been some killing going around, and we suspect it's some sort of organization doing this." He fanned out pictures from the crime scenes. I pick up a random one, seeing the body of a young man with ''conformist' written on his chest, tongue cut out. I am unphased by this, and tossed it back to the pile.

"And what do you want me to do about eet?"

"You will be partnered with Jeff in this case," he said, gesturing to a bumbling officer in the corner, nervously wringing his hands.

" 'ey! You expect me to work with zee ass'ole who arrested me?"

"Either this, or you go to jail."

I scoffed. "Fine. 'ave your damn way. But I expect some rezspect around 'ere."

"Like we bow to you?"

"I want an apartment, and to be paid."

"We're already giving you a lot."

"Oui." I took another drag of my cigarette, and blew it in his face. "But I do not zink you realize that I do not care if I go to jail. Fuck jail, eet was invented by the faggot in the sky, designed to make me feel guilty. I am not guilty. But you need me, because I 'ave skills. I can catch zis, or zese, killers. So you give me place and money, no?"

"Fine. One thousand now, three thousand when you solve it," he agreed. "But shittiest apartment available. Fair?"

I chuckled. "I sleep on rooftops and alleyways when I cannot find a nice park bench to sleep on, monsieur. I will be fine. Zis is fair."

"Then we have a deal."

* * *

><p>JEFF'S PERSPECTIVE!<p>

I have to work with a damn kid on one of the most important cases of my career. Granted, it's the only crime I've been assigned to that isn't a simple domestic violence or graffiti fine, but nonetheless, it's important and I want to solve it on my own.

"Can I 'ave my shovel back?" Christophe asked, lighting up a cigarette that the Chief gave him back in the station. We're riding in the cop car, with him up front this time.

"Maybe, if you prove to me that you won't hit me over the head with it."

Christophe chuckled. "I cannot promise anything, Offizzer." He gazed out the window, watching the people stare as we whizzed by. "So, what ees on ze agenda for today?"

"We're interviewing suspects." I paused. "Well, I am. You're going to wait in here like a good boy."

"Fuck you, cocksucker." he glowered. "Do you at least 'ave zome papers on zem?"

"I have information on one of them, Ike Broflovski. He's not exactly a suspect."

"Zen what ees 'e?"

"I don't know. He just might have information, or be linked. I only heard about him through someone else."

Christophe hummed, understanding. "And ze ozzer one?"

"He claims his name is Charlie Broflovski, but our records have no information on him."

"Ah, false name then. Clever, but stupid, you do know?" Christophe flipped through the file of Ike I gave him. "Zis one does not look like ze type to kill, no? I do not zink 'e ees related to our case."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Eet says 'ere 'e only moved 'ere a few dayz ago. Zat does zeem suspicious, sure, but I zink you are maybe looking at it wrong way. He probably does not know anyone 'ere, yet. 'e does not even 'ave any family members 'ere, right?"

"It says that he only has one sibling, Kyle Broflovski. Lives in New York City."

"Kyle Broflovski..." Christophe mumbled, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "Sounds familiar, but not een a criminal familiar way. Een a personal way. But never mind zat. Ze fact that his only relationship ees his mozzer, fazzer, and brozzer, eet makes zis 'Charlie' character eveen more suspicious."

"I can barely understand you with that accent," I noted.

"Too bad, you cock-"

"Okay!" I interrupted, not wanting more insults. "Here's what's going to happen today. You are going to go undercover."

"I like what I am 'earing..."

"As a college student."

"Fuck!" he shouted, tapping more ashes on the car bottom. "I fucking 'ate college kids!"

"You are going to be in Charlie's French class tomorrow, and observe what he does for a few days. It's not the only thing you're going to be doing; you'll observe more people, but for now, you're following this kid."

"Ees zis just anozzer way of admitting we 'ave no other leads?"

"Maybe," I grumbled, grip tightening on my wheel.

"I just 'ope you know what you are doing."

* * *

><p>BACK TO SHIFT'S POV<p>

Ike literally pounces me when I arrived home with boxes of Chinese takeout. "You're home!" he shouted.

"Yes, bearing gifts of food," I mumbled, setting down the boxes. "But, really, are you going to do this every time I come home later than you because of our class schedule? You need to like, join some club or something."

Ike rolled his eyes, taking out a pair of chopsticks and stuffing his face full of sweet and sour pork.

"Isn't that against your religion?" I asked, taking out my assignments from various classes.

"Isn't stating the obvious against your nonconformity?" Ike replied, swallowing a bite. "You act like I've committed a crime."

I gulped, suddenly remembering my appointment with the cop. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to get a watch," Ike quipped, then, upon seeing my expression, said, "6:13. Why, is something going-"

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZT.

"That's the door buzzer, I'll get it," Ike said, moving towards our apartment door.

"Wait!" I blurted. Ike raised an eyebrow at me, but opened the door.

Ike's parents stood in the doorway, smiling. "Hello there Ikey-poo!" his mom shouted, embracing him in a tight hug. "We came to visit!"

Oh.

Shit.


	7. Chapter 7: Related Crazies

**ecrounox: ... *dies***

**I didn't mean to take so long to write this. Enjoy anyways. Stay tuned for some fun facts at the end.**

**tophatgirl: I really have nothing to say except that APPRECIATE THIS CHAPTER OF EFFING AWESOMENESS. Seriously. Reviews are our crack. We have problems.**

**ecrounox (edit): Did some minor editing based on THG's recommendations. Christophe should sound more French now.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>(Ike's POV)<p>

My old soccer coach always told us to know our enemies and understand their actions. We would have to plan ahead and expect surprise attacks. The funny thing about that is that I never really paid any attention during those lectures. I was being forced to partake in these sports against my will, after all.

I never imagined that I would have to take the coach's lessons and apply them to the real world, namely, to use them on my parents. They came with a complete _coup de fucking grace_. An ambush.

I nearly slammed the door in their faces, like any normal person would if their parents just randomly showed up at their doorstep. I glanced between them, hoping neither of them processed the look of peril on my face, and muttered, "Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?"

"We just had to stop by and say hello! Oh, Ikey, it's so good to see you." my mother smiled and reached out to hug me.

Before she could, though, I turned my head to look at Shift in the kitchen doorway. He mouthed the words, "why are they here?" I shrugged and told him that I didn't have the slightest clue.

"Hold on a second, guys." I told my parents before closing the door on them. Without a word, I rushed past Shift and into the kitchen, mumbling unintelligible things about hiding the barbecue pork as I tossed my dinner into the fridge.

"Ike?"

"You might want to hide." I suggested.

He looked at me quizzically. "Like hell I will. I've been meaning to tell you that some police officer should be coming by any minute for-"

"What? Why?"

He rolled his eyes, unfazed. "You know that murder that happened this morning? The one a few doors down? The freaking cop that I talked to said he would come down to interview me... maybe the both of us."

"Crap, what am I going to do? My parents are going to freak out and think you're a serial killer! Shit, they're going to think _I'm_ living with a serial killer!"

Now at this point I admit that I was being a little irrational. Then again, I'm not used to stressing over more than just homework, so this was all a little bit far fetched. Shift tried his best to calm me down by putting his hands on my shoulders, which had been pacing back and forth moments ago.

"Ike!" he yelled, "It's going to be okay. As far as I know, neither of us is under suspicion for any crime." He then looked down for a second to think. "We can just tell your parents now about what's going on and that someone will be showing up to ask a few questions. So just cool it, or I'm going to summon a demonic entity from the night to knock some sense into you."

I shook free of his hold and took a deep breath. "Okay, but Shift…"

"What is it now?"

"My parents don't even know about you yet. I'm worried that they'll get the wrong impression from you." Not that they haven't seen him before, they just haven't been introduced...

"Don't sweat it. I'll act natural."

I looked towards the door, which stood in the way of my mom and dad. My mother must have been trying desperately to hold back one of her maternal hugs. "Actually," I said, walking forward to grab the doorknob, "you shouldn't act like yourself at all."

"What?"

"You heard me. Be as polite as possible. No snide comments, 'hellish beings from the darkness,' or smoking around them."

"So you want me to be as conformist as possible? Like that's going to happen."

"I've had to play charades with them most of my life. You're going to have to deal with it." I confided. "Just do this once. Please?"

He stared at me blankly for a few seconds, very seriously, like he was on the verge of bursting at any moment because pretending that he's an adequate human being was so goddamn unnatural. When he didn't reply, I opened the door.

My parents were standing with their backs facing me, staring past the apartment's front entry way.

"Guys?" I tried to catch their attention.

"Ike, I think I just saw a man dressed in women's clothes walk out of the front door." my father mumbled, dumbstruck.

"Oh, that must have been Sapphire. She lives upstairs."

"Are you sure that was a 'she'?" mom asked, clutching her purse.

"Mom, it's San Francisco. You're going to see a lot of cross dressers."

Her face twisted with a bit with repulsion, but she turned back to me. "Oh, never mind that. I've missed you so much!" she finally reached out and embraced me, smacking my temple with her wet lips.

"I've missed you, too." I lied, squeezing her back. She seemed so small compared to me.

"How has your transition into San Fran been, son?" dad asked.

"It's been alright."

Once my mom finally pulled away from her hugging and kissing, Shift coughed behind the door. It wasn't a cough caused by years of smoking, but a signal to let me know that it was time for the inevitable. I stepped back, allowing my parents to get through the door. With a gulp, I was able to utter, "There's someone that I'd like you to meet."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister and Misses Broflovski." Shift introduces himself with less emotion than a machine. He extended his hand, but neither of my parents seemed too intent on shaking it. In fact, my mother seemed intimidated.

I put my hand on his shoulder, like I was claiming him. Stupid, I know. "This is Charlie. He's my roommate." Shift tapped my shin with the tip of his boot, glaring. "Fine. Boyfriend, actually... Kinda."

No use going the safe route. There will be shit to pay for this eventually.

When my mother doesn't make an effort to shake his gloved hand, my father does. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Charlie." I think he knew the drill, considering how he had done the same thing with a couple of Kyle's old dates. Dad has always been the more rational one, and I guess I could say that I was thankful to have him. When my mom saw that he had shaken Shift's hand without catching some kind of contagious goth disease, she willingly shook it as well.

"Why don't you guys make yourself at home?"

I must have been kidding myself. My parents probably thought I was living in a home for the mentally ill, with a goth and a transgendered man. My new world was far from the normal one that was once forced upon me growing up.

But who cares what they think anymore.

* * *

><p>(Jeff's POV)<p>

Christophe and I drove through the streets of Haight Ashubury, trying to track down the two college kids. We're a little later than I would have liked, but Frenchie apparently needed a pack of cigarettes from a drug store. He's been chain smoking ever since. Once he's done with one cigarette, he tosses it out the window and goes back for another one.

When I finally parked the police car across the street from this morning's crime scene, I whipped out my pen and a pad of paper, hoping to jot down a few things during these interviews.

"Would you mind not smoking in here while I'm gone?" I turned to the ever-so-compliant partner of mine. He snorted and slumped back into his chair. If you ask me, he should have still been handcuffed in the backseat.

"Thiz iz a part of working with ze Mole, Jeff. If we are not compatible, then you can go fuck yourzelf while your shithead God watches. And nothing you can write down will 'elp in our pursuit of zis killer, or killers." He lit up another cigarette and leaned against the window.

"You don't make any sense. Are you saying that I'm not doing my job the right way, kid?"

"Yes, you American cocksucker. And for ze last time, I'm not a kid." he replied, rubbing the stubble on his chin as evidence. "But what I am saying is zat you must be more induztrious. Instead of lying in wait like the pussy you are, I zuggest you use a tape recorder and rape theze fellows for eenformation. More efficient zat way." he then blows smoke into my face, snorting once again when I let out a cough, and gets out of the car.

Rape them for information? Metaphorically, I hope. "If you want me to do my job correctly, then stay in the car like I told you to."

"Ha, like I was ever going to listen to you in ze first place. Monsier, while you talk to zis Charlie, or Ike or 'oever, I am going over zere to investigate that crime zeen."

"Good. Maybe while you're over there you'll pick up on something that we _Americans _never found." I tried my best to mock his awful accent, but I'm not too educated in different dialects. They never taught us this sort of thing in police training.

Christophe found no amusement. "Zis is good, no? Maybe I will." He went into the trunk and pulled out his shovel, rope and a beaten up tape recorder from his bag. He tossed the device to me from the window. "'Here, bitch, use eet."

I looked down at the hunk of plastic, feeling pathetic that I was actually considering taking his advice. "Just go. You're going to get in the way." I waved him off.

There is the chance that I may die because of this case, but if I do, I hope it is not because this French ass led me to shoot myself.

If I'm going to be a cop in this God forsaken city, I need to at least die with honor.

* * *

><p>(Ike's POV)<p>

"There's something that I need to tell you before we all get settled." I informed my mom and dad, offering them glasses of water. "Did you notice the apartment a few doors down that's surrounded with yellow police tape?"

They both nodded from their spots on the couch. Shift continued explaining everything from then on, still in his state of monotone (I figured that he would rather be emotionless than nice and cheery). "There was a murder there this morning. Someone's coming down from the police station to talk to us since we live so close by."

"A murder? Really?" my mom almost choked on her water.

"Is it even safe for you boys to be living here?" dad asked.

"Don't worry, we'll lock our windows and everything." I assured him. "Still, it would have been nice to get a head's up before you came down."

The door buzzer rang and Shift immediately shot up to answer it. He opened the door and stepped outside and, within a moment, returned to tell me, "I'll be outside with the officer. I'll come and get you whenever."

When he was gone, I was left alone with my parents for the first time in weeks. I smiled, they smiled back, then everything was silent.

"You have such a cute little living room, Ike." my mom said after a while.

"Yeah, it's nice." I mentally groaned. "Is there anything else you want to eat or drink?"

"Some wine would be nice." my father replied, sipping his water.

"Dad, I'm 18. I can't buy wine."

"Then is there any place where I can go and get some?"

My mom scoffed. "Gerald, do you really need a drink right now?"

"No, it's okay mom. I'm sure the landlords have a few bottles. Do you want me to go and ask?"

"We'll go with you."

And somehow I ended up upstairs in the Baptiste's apartment, with my mother scolding me for any number of reasons (mainly because she wanted me to go to Yardale, Shift was also one of her complaints), and my dad laughing and sharing a drink with Paul and June (whom he had just met) and not protecting me from my mother's wrath.

* * *

><p>(Jeff's POV)<p>

"I just want you to know before I ask you anything, kid. I'm here to get leads on this case, not to interrogate you or anything." I tell him. He's a smoker, sucking in lung cancer just like Christophe. "I'm a cop, but part of my jurisdiction is investigation work."

"Yeah, yeah, I don't need your whole life story." he stabs his cigarette into an ashtray set out on the porch table. The tape recorder is on 'record' besides it.

"Tell me first what your real name is. That little alias you gave me made you a bit more suspicious than you should be."

"My name is Charlie." he replies. "My last name is Hunter. Sometimes I go by 'Shift.' Happy now?"

Well, at least he's being more agreeable than I had expected. "And you're how old?" I would know this if I had any files on him.

"18."

"Okay... and you've been living here for about a day. Do you have any proof of this?"

"Ike has the paperwork. If you wanna talk to the landlord about it, you can."

"Where did you live before?"

"A redneck mountain town called South Park. It's in Colorado."

"Right, so you wouldn't know anything about the recent reign of homicides, would you?"

"I probably know less than most people. I mean, this might be related, but the moment we got into the city from the Golden Gate bridge we saw a huge police commotion over one of these murders. This has all been happening before we got here, so I don't see why you need to talk to me."

"It's because we know more than a few people are doing this. It's all over the media. Everyone thinks it's a Satanic cult."

"Do I look like I would be in one of those? Is this some kind of goth stereotype?" he took a drag of his cigarette and blew it in my face, which has happened quite a few times today. "You cops are all the same. Stereotyping assholes."

Teenagers are so disrespectful these days. "I never said you were a part of it. There's a possibility that you might be related in some way, or maybe you know something about it. Maybe you know someone who might be in it."

"The only people I know here are the tenants in my building. I don't even know all of them yet."

I took a second to scribble something down on the pad of paper. "Uh-huh. Charlie, let me ask you something. What do you think about people who shop at Abercrombie & Fitch? Or Hollister?"

"What the hell does that have to do with the case?"

"It's just a question."

"I don't think much of them. I used to hate them with a burning passion, but then again most of them hated me, too. To me they're conformist ass lickers, but if they didn't exist then I wouldn't have anything to non-conform to." He seemed to have put a bit of thought into his response, idly blowing smoke out of this nose. "I don't know what this has to do with anything still."

"More than you would expect." I quickly jotted down the word 'conformist,' something that keeps appearing in each of the homicides.

"Is there anything else that you want from me?"

"I also wanted to know," going back to the Satanic cult topic, "if you've ever been involved in an underground group of any kind, in your home town perhaps." I was careful not to use 'cult' since it made him a bit touchy.

"You could say I have. So much shit has happened in South Park that it's easy to understand why." he says. "There's been a few. I was only a part of them in elementary school, and they've disbanded since."

"Elementary school is pretty young for that kind of thing."

"Hey, it wasn't my idea."

"That doesn't matter. Go on and tell me about these groups."

"Fine. Whatever. There was a cult, you could say. Cults have something to do with religion, I think. We worshiped some stupid Cthulhu thing as a deity, which was bullshit since he never pulled through with our expectations. Most people only came to that for the free beer. It disbanded a really long time ago." he inhaled more smoke. "I shouldn't be telling you any of this. Whatever. It's for my own benefit. Ike's too."

"The more information I get from this interview, the closer we get to catching these bastards."

"Really? Huh, didn't think I'd be saving mankind just by talking."

"Were there any other groups?"

"Yeah. There was another. I don't remember what it was called, something in Gaelic, I think. It was apparently pretty ancient, and it branched out from Europe to America. I don't remember much about it at all. We met in graveyards and cemeteries, drank wine... um, listened to music, chanted about some nameless God. Shit like that." he crushes his cancer stick into the ashtray. "Oh, it's also where I got my name. Shift."

"Interesting. Did that group have a purpose?"

"As far as I'm concerned, yes. I was too young to understand a fucking thing, though."

I let out a thoughtful grunt and scribbled a few more things into a web chart. "That should be good. I'm going to believe all of this for now, but if I do some research and none of this adds up, then you're going to be in trouble."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry, officer, I've been telling you the truth. It's for mine and my partner's own safety, there's no reason why I should lie."

"You lied about your name before."

"It was instinctual."

I clicked the 'stop' button on the tape recorder and put it away in my chest pocket. "Anyways, thank you for complying. Have a nice evening."

"You're welcome, I guess. You too." he slid back inside of the apartment. Good kid, too bad he's so unmannerly.

I closed the note pad and stowed it with the recorder, all the while crossing the street to the car. Christophe is waiting impatiently, apparently done with whatever he was doing at the crime scene.

"Find anything?" I ask him.

"You do not 'ave enough faith in me, _Jeff._ Zere was a sheetload of sheet zat you polize never took notice of. Ze forced entry, for example. Ze lock was broken and everything with a crow bar. I would 'ave done a better job myself getting into zat apartment. And zere was a few pieces of furniture out of place, where ze filthy dust did not match up. Posseebly moved during a struggle. I found aspestos on ze floor and foreein dirt in ze backyard, and eet did not look like eet was from around 'ere." he throws me a couple of plastic bags with some soil samples in it. Overall, a good job on his part.

"Well done, Christophe. I'm surprised."

"You better be, you son of a beetch." he mutters and stares out the window. "'Ey, I'm out of zigarettes. Can we-"

"Fine. But I'm not paying for them this time." I start the engine and get onto the road, right behind a line of traffic.

"Did you get any good eenformation from zat Charlie guy?"

"Yeah. I have a few ideas on where we should look next." I smile to myself. Mission accomplished with no major setbacks. I offer my hand in the air for a high five.

Christophe stares at me. "No, you American cocksucker. Just no."

I put my hand back on the wheel. "Have you ever heard of South Park, Colorado?" I ask him.

"Yes, and let me tell you zomething, _Jeff._ You do not want to live zere, ever. I almost got my ass keelled in South Park. Zey're a bunch of crazy faggots."

"Oh, I believe you." I say, driving into the night.

* * *

><p>(Ike's POV)<p>

Soon after saying good-bye to my parents and giving them hugs, even though I really didn't want to, I found a few twenty dollar bills left on our kitchen counter with a note on top. I thought it might be Shift's until I read the note.

_I figured a college kid might be in need of some money.  
>Sorry about your mother. You know how she is.<br>We both love you.  
>-Dad.<em>

Well that was nice of him. Still, it's funny how he thinks money will make up for my mom's tongue lashings. I gotta love it though, free money is a wonderful thing when you're broke.

I stuffed the bills in my back pocket and leisurely made my way into the living room where Shift was sitting on the couch. He was scribbling things in his writing notebook under the light of one of Mrs. Tucker's side table lamps. When he noticed my presence, he smirked. "Damn, your mom is a huge bitch."

"Tell me about it." I rubbed my arm. "She got a little better once Kyle moved away entirely. I guess he was the source of all of her inner turmoil."

"Ouch." he replied, though still writing. His ability to multitask astounds me.

I slumped down onto the opposite side of him on the ugly green couch, kicking my legs up and resting them on top of his own. He glanced up but didn't do anything about it.

"So, tell me mister soccer stud. What's it like to be a total let down to your overly ambitious mother?"

"Hey, don't state the obvious. I should be the one wearing black and complaining about life here." I replied. That makes him chuckle, or something like that, and I had to laugh."You wanna know what she told me this time in our little argument? She told me that I was supposed to go to Yardale for a psychology major, not move to the capitol of the gay community with my 'ex-convict partner.' Blah blah blah, I'm too naive to know how to live without her. Yadda yadda. I don't live up to her expectations, big whup."

"What a complete bitch, I can see why you'd be scared of her coming. What about your dad?"

"My dad's more of a pansy than I am. He doesn't stand up for himself or anyone else." I rested my head against the sofa cushions. "He's still pretty cool about everything though."

He nodded, thoughtfully, and went back to his notebook.

"What happened with the cop? He didn't need to talk to me, did he?"

"Nope. I don't think he suspects me of anything, and if that's the case then you're safe. I didn't know much about the murders going around, so he asked me stuff about," he waved his hand around, "you know, goth stuff. Everyone's under the impression that a Satanic cult is killing people. And I apparently look like I would know a thing or two about those." I nodded, agreeing with him sarcastically. "It sounds strange to me. I mean, goths are really harmless. You could say we're peaceful and don't do anything but whine and bitch about the world sucking. I don't know any goth activists who are willing to jump into action for what they believe in."

"Except for you." I nudged his leg with my foot. "Dude, don't you remember everything you did about the fucking vampires last year?"

"Yeah, well I'm not your typical goth now, am I? I like freaking Katy Perry, as proof."

"You sure look like one, though." I teased.

"Fuck you."

I leaned forward and pecked his forehead, though most of it was covered by his thick bangs. He glared at me, and within seconds my cheeks were feeling flushed. Crap.

"Sorry." I said and looked every which way to avoid the fact that I just did something completely cheesy.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him smiling. Genuinely, in fact. But eventually he rubbed his forehead clean with his shirt sleeve to hide the evidence.

"Shouldn't you be looking through the papers for a job?" I asked him.

"Shouldn't you?" he shot back.

"I already looked while I was waiting for you to get home. I'll probably need to get two jobs, just so that we have enough money to survive. But I was thinking about that pee wee soccer coaching position, accompanied by a little league assistant coach gig. Both should rake in about $500 a month." I did the math on a piece of paper earlier since I'm not too great with spontaneous equations. "Is that enough to cover my half of our expenses?"

"$1000 should be enough for your half. Set aside some for tuition and everything else." he said. "I hope I can make that amount writing articles. If not, there's always prostitution..." He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.

"You are not selling your body." I retorted.

"Who knows? Maybe I'll lure one of those Satanic cultists in with my charm and report them to the police."

"And risk having your ass skinned or being decapitated? I don't think so."

"You're no fun." he mumbled in response.

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. There was a water stain a few feet away where the upstairs pipes must have been leaking. No wonder the rent is so cheap here. "Hey," I muttered, "you got any homework to do?"

"On the first day? Fuck no. Nothing's due until Wednesday for me."

"My dad left me a nice amount of spending money. And we haven't actually indulged in any non-home-improvement shopping. Want to hit the streets?"

"Go shopping? At 8 PM on a Monday night? Thrift stores? That Amoeba Records place? You bet your Canadian ass I do." he replied too enthusiastically for his character.

"Then quit writing poetry about how awesome I am and let's go."

Both of us anxiously hopped off of the couch to get our shoes on. With the premise of work in the future, I didn't think we would be having any night time ventures like this for a long time. It was best to make it fun while it lasted, and pray to the god that neither of us believed in that we wouldn't be the next victims of that weird group of mass murderers.

* * *

><p>(Unkown POV)<p>

_Sanguine waters crash up against the jagged rocks. I can only wish that this were a shoreline in Hades, where savage flames rise up and grasp at the flesh of our fellow man. It's a shame that I am earthbound with all of these pathetic followers of bandwagons. I am amongst a sea of phonies, above them, like I am on top of the cliffs where I stand now, staring at the blood red ocean below me._

_Tonight several people will be announced missing, and we will be the only ones to know where they might be - at the bottom of the bay. We made sure that there could be no survivors_. _Each person met a merciless fate... blood spilling out of wounds and mingling with the ocean's tide, limbs shredded off and fed to rats, guts charred to a crisp and ready for... the sacrifice._

_Though they may be human, they're all still simpleminded conformists. They deserve this gory demise. Every last one of them._

_I turn around, having just watched the last few lifeless bodies flung into the abyss, to observe as my underlings prepare for their decent into the hellish city across the expanse of unforgiving water. Around us are the demolished cement walls of a once godforsaken establishment. Ruins. Candles stand on every flat surface with their flames licking at the cool midnight breeze._

_My subordinates await my command. The ones who have been torturing the conformists (and are now tired) rest quietly and listen to the Fields Of The Nephilim and the Cocteau Twins on a hidden record player. Some rouse themselves for the night ahead with enthusiasm and cheers of "exterminate the trend zombies!" A few come forth with a delivery of information, or seeking my wisdom._

_"Who are the next scum on the list?" one asks me in Gaelic. I tell them, for it wouldn't help if we go about this unorganized._

_"Here are some reports from the media. They're all about the work that we've been doing." I accept papers from another._

_One of the younger inferiors approaches me_, _cautiously, with ebony silk robes wrapped around their tiny frame_. _A woman. "Madam, I have found a goth at the university who is not of our society. Or at least I do not believe that he is with us."_

_This piques my interest. "A traitor?"_

_"I do not believe so. He would have recognized me and the others. He appeared to be ignorant to everything."_

_"Did you look into who he was? Where he came from?"_

_"Yes. Though I did not catch his first name, he goes by his surname, 'Broflovski.' He is from Colorado, that I know."_

_Strange. It was very outlandish for someone of our kind to not be among our ranks. And I had once believed that the Colorado branch was strong. Nonetheless, I returned to my post. "Thank you, Jezabel. I'll see to it that he joins us."_

_...  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN(2): Here are some Goth Fun Facts:**

_#1: "Goth" and "Fun" should never be used in the same sentence, unless you want to be ironic._

_#2: The likeliness of there being a Gothic cult anywhere outside of the town of Leeds, England is HIGHLY unlikely. And if there just so happens to be one in your area, it's also highly unlikely for them to go on a mass killing spree. The worst that could happen could be another Columbine incident, but the kids who attempted murder at their school and then shot themselves were not Goth. They were just really... sad, or something._

_#3: Fields of the Nephilim and the Cocteau Twins are both very obscure Gothic bands. The Cocteau Twins are actually a trio of unrelated creepers, and the singer has a really nice soprano voice._

_#4: There is a huge misconception about what makes a Goth a Goth. If you really give a shit, just watch the Goth Kids' speech at the end of "The Ungroundable" episode._

_#5: There really is no purpose for this list, and I am just sharing my knowledge with the yuppies who can't get their facts straight._

**Thank you for reading, and make sure you leave a review on your way out. We're not not paid for nothing, you know!**_  
><em>


	8. Chapter 8: Fine Wine and Crime

**A/N: I had about 4000 words written out on this thing when OpenOffice bitched out and deleted it. Now I had to rewrite it, and I am severely angry right now. Don't badmouth the computer though, it gets angry and decides to fuck me over. Okay, let's try this again, shall we?**

**For the long wait, I am granting you a long chapter! It's a beast, this time. I also didn't have time to edit, so if you find something confusingly wrong (like it just breaks off in amiddle of a sentence and switches POV) let me know, because I'm editing TOMORROW. ~THG  
><strong>

The corner street bookstore reeks of mothballs and drunk spiders. The cashier broke her concentration to glare at us, then went back to her withering romance novel, pages dog-eared. Ike rolled his eyes at her when she looked away, then wandered off to the classic literature section. My eyes swept over the poetry shelves, but they were all books I already owned and had pawed through thousands of times. I practically knew all of Edgar Allen Poe's work by heart. The carpet had wine stains on it, I noticed, when I crouched down to further look at the selection. I subconsciously sucked on my tongue piercing, mind turning. I sighed, moving on to a different section, and happened upon the self-help section. The books often had stock photo covers of a person holding their head in their hands, having a very remorse face, and a subtitle that proclaimed, "You can do it!" What bullshit. A few pages encouraging you only have the bonus of raising your hopes, a dangerous prospect.

The cooking section had various sub categories, vegan cooking, diet cooking, cooking for dumbshits, Chinese cooking without rice, etc. My eyes happened upon the Jewish cooking, which shows various kosher meals. My mind clicked back to Ike's little sighs whenever he eats pork, slight guilt. He's such a stickler for rules. I flipped through the book, seeing the different recipes.

"You burn cereal, Shift," Ike said, suddenly behind me. I jump, book fumbling in my hands. I pretended I knew he was there all along, sticking out my tongue at him and putting the book back. "What were you looking at? Goth cook book?"

"None of your business," I said, without bite. "What's in your hand?"

"Oh." He produced a small leather bound book, with loopy letters on the front in gold. "The Complete Works of Ernest Hemingway," he read from the book.

"I thought it would be something about soccer, or hockey, or something," I said, getting up off the floor and pushing hair out of my face.

"My mom used to read it to me," he said, flipping through the pages.

I raised an eyebrow. "Who the fuck reads Hemingway's stories to a child?"

"You've met my mother, answer that yourself." He pulled out his wallet, counting the bills. "You ready?"

After some contemplation, I decided to buy the fucking Jew cooking book. We paid for the items, the cashier pounding the keys with red nails. I pushed open the door with my side, the bell dinging as we got out onto the street. I immediately lit a cigarette, cupping the flame with one hand. Ike pretended to disapprove of my smoking habits, but really, he never cared. We walked down the sidewalk, feeling the signature San Francisco fog bite at our faces. Ike leaned into me without thinking, having forgotten his hoodie. My trench coat kept the frost out, but goosebumps raised on my arms. I felt Ike's hair brush against my shoulder, his cheeks going red from the cold. I squirmed under the contact, but he just moved closer to me.

"Don't you dare push me off. It's cold and you're warm."

"I am?" I asked. The streets were scattered with people who ignored us, something I wasn't used to. In South Park, people would flinch and take a step away from the goth kids, muttering something like '_why are those girls dressed so scarily?'_ Here, they couldn't give a shit, as long as you didn't try to jack their stuff.

"Well, your heart's ice cold, if that's reassuring. But your body heat. Warm. Get what I'm saying?" Ike poked my sleeve, which jerked me from my train of thought. I nodded once, and he looked away. I watched his eyes wander to a colorful sign proclaiming that they sold icecream there, his tongue jutting out and licking his -quickly turning blue- lips. I sighed, nudging Ike with my elbow. He paused, blinking up at me.

"We're gonna get icecream," I said. He furrowed his eyebrows, gazing upward at the white sky. He shivered, meeting my eyes again.

"It's freezing."

"So?" I kicked his shin gently with my boot, sneering at him. "I'm doing one of those conformist nazi boyfriend things, taking you out to icecream. Stop being a jerk and appreciate it."

A grin spread across Ike's face, and he grabbed my hand, tugging me in. No other customers were there, them being much wiser than us. Ike pressed his hands against the cool glass containing the different flavors. I glowered next to him, secretly enjoying the childlike way his eyes lit up. This cashier didn't glare, she looked rather amused at Ike's antics. He took great care in choosing which kind he wanted. "The green tea tastes unique, but the rocky road is my favorite. Oh, but that has so many calories..."

I scoffed. "Don't be such a chick, you're plenty skinny."

Ike broke his concentration, smiling at me again. "Thank you."

I punched him lightly in the arm. "Don't take it as a compliment. I hate you."

In the end, I got plain vanilla and he got double chocolate with sprinkles. While paying, the cashier smiled at us, saying, "You guys make a cute couple." I glared at her, and Ike said thank you before dragging me to the window table, staring at the people walking past the shop. It was a sea of trend zombies, swallowing the media's every wish by the gallon, just to be the cheerleaders they deserve to rot in hell-

"Who deserves to rot in hell?" Ike asked. "You were speaking out loud." I met his eyes. He tilted his head, eyes full of concern. "Are you okay? You've seemed distracted."

"I'm always distracted by the utter need to all be one mass of conformity," I grumbled, but losing the heart to it and taking a hesitant lick of the icecream, hoping it didn't smear the lipstick. We lapsed back into a comfortable silence, Ike hypnotized by the lure of the frozen treat. The streets were winding down, people retreating into crowded cafes to eat. I lit another cigarette, setting my icecream on a napkin.

"Hey, you," the cashier said, pointing at me. "You can't smoke in here."

"Watch me," I said, deliberately blowing a wave of smoke in her general direction. Ike chuckled behind his hand, deeply amused.

"Fine," she said, putting up her hands. "My shift gets off in five. But then Lenny comes on. And trust me, you don't wanna meet Lenny." her voice had a crisp Hispanic accent, and she smirked as I inhaled another drag. She goes back to the crossword puzzle on the counter, rapping her long lacquered nails against the smooth surface. Ike breathed in, managing not to cough from the secondhand tobacco. His icecream was almost done, and he's on to just biting it.

"Do you miss your goth friends?" he asked, his attention on me. I've completely forgone the makeup worries, digging into my dessert like there's no tomorrow. I tried to read his expression, but it's nothing but curious. For a second, my heart twanged, worrying that maybe I've been neglecting Ike. But that thought vanished, because first of all, that's such a lame thing to think. Secondly, all of my attention has been on him for the past year. He's tied to me, whether I like it or not. And in private, quite a while ago, on the roof of a car, I decided that I liked it very much.

"No," I said forcibly, taking a chunk of my icecream and sliding it down my tongue. Ike motioned for me to elaborate, and I sighed, pushing my chair back an inch and leaning back, sticking the fag inbetween my lips and inhaling deeply. "Sure, they're my allies and I respect them, but I don't miss them. Once they graduated they left me behind, ignoring me or claiming that I was always 'too young'. It shoved me into solitude, and eventually had less and less contact with them. Of course, they sent me letters in ink back in South Park, but I rarely responded. Then I met you."

"Then you met me," Ike echoed, and a small smile fluttered across his face. I ignored it, going back to my cigarette and my thoughts.

**(CHRISTOPHE POV)**

"Ze shittiest apartment available is your apartment?" I asked, completely appalled. Jeff smirked, unlocking the door and attempting to open it. It jammed, and Jeff grunted and slammed it with his shoulder.  
>"The chief likes to mess with people by saying stuff like that. You really think the police could afford to house you downtown?" he flipped on the light, flooding the living room. Furniture was pretty scarce, only a thrift store green couch with frayed armrests, wooden crate box across from it, and tiny TV set casually on top of it. "You have the couch. Sorry there isn't anything really here; I'm usually out doing gumshoe police work that takes up a massive amount of my day."<br>"Eet ees okay, I guess." I kicked off my boots, dirt exploding out of them into a scattered pile. I strap off my shovel, holding it's weight in my hands, balancing it with inner glory. Ah, my shovel. My valuable possession, gotten in my small village in France after some haggling skills with a stubborn shopkeeper. I was seven, and he doubted that I could even pay for it. Thanks to my mama's (I say this name with disdain, not affection) money she gave me daily to get me out of the house, I plopped the bag of various coins on his counter. The man had twisted his small greasy mustache in a scowl, snatched the money, and pushed the shovel in my hands, shooing me off. I had run home, carrying my prize with no small amount of pride. The memory was one of the few that filled my unsympathetic heart with warm pleasure, and this is why my shovel has stuck with me. The feeling of triumph.  
>"Can you stop being so...fond of that shovel?" Jeff asked, thoroughly creeped out by my wave of love for an inanimate object, eying me with suspicion.<p>

"Of course, beetch," I said, pointing a dirt encrusted finger at his fat fucking face. "As soon as you destroy your gun, yes?" Jeff made no move, and I smirked. "See, we all have our pride and joys. Mine is this shovel. Eet is, apart of me, no?"

Jeff shrugged, spreading his case files across the small kitchen table, and I glanced over them with disinterest. I shoved a cigarette in my mouth, lighting up and breathing any smoke out my nose. "Got any wine?"

Jeff sat on a fold out chair, chewing on a pen, thinking. "Uh, I'm not sure. People give me wine all of the time as presents, but I'm not much of an alcoholic." His voice is very distant, completely concentrated on the case. What a loser. I rummaged through his cabinets, finding a few bottles of whiskey, which I set in my imaginary 'maybe' pile. They're always good for a nightcap. My hands felt a smooth bottle in the very back, and I gripped it, shoving other things out of the way to get a look at the label.

My heart nearly stopped.

"Bordeaux," I whispered, gently brushing the clear green glass. Too many memories of being a young boy flood my mind, and they were unwelcome.

"What?" Jeff asked, eyes not breaking from his work. I sneered, flipping him off, even though he didn't see.

"Nothing, you nosy beetch."

Despite what the asshole Americans think, not every Frenchman was born in the suburbs of Paris, a view of the Eiffel Tower right outside their window. No, I was the exception, a boy born in the wine oriented town of Bordeaux. A frown flitted across my face, and I go through the wooden kitchen drawers to find a corkscrew. They were jam packed with plastic forks and corn holders, but at last I found an unused one, and popped open the wine. The smell was intoxicating, it still needed to breath, but nonetheless it flooded back the scents of home.

Home.

Home doesn't exist. What does exist is that I am sitting on a countertop, harsh florescent light beating my eyes, and a cocksucking pussy licking American cop is slouched a mere few feet away from me. Home is for the coward who cries for mommy.

_I am not a coward,_ I think, taking one long gulp of home.

**SHIFT'S POINT. OF. VIEW.**

Coming back to the apartment, Ike seemed to be exhausted. I didn't blame him, we did a lot of shit today. He was leaning on me, eyes drooping. He looked like a child, especially when he clutched at the fabric of my jacket. I rolled my eyes.

"You want me to carry you to the bed or something?" I scoffed.

"Yes," he said nasally, slowly sinking to the floor.

"That was a joke. The bed's literally eight feet away."

"Please?" His eyes widened, using the deadly puppy dog look. I rolled my eyes once again, so hard that they might have just fallen out of their sockets.

"Fine, but probably only because it's slightly ironic." Or something. I begrudgingly bent down, swept his feet off the floor, and carrying him in my arms bridal style. "This is so gay," I muttered. "I mean, this is how people carry each other to bed for sex. We're not even going to have sex! What the hell. So. Gay." Ike murmured something along the lines of _pot calling the kettle black_ but I was disinterested. After plopping him in the bed, I placed the books on the end table, and shrugged my jacket off my shoulders, sighing.

"Read me a story?" Ike's voice carried from the bed. He was sitting with his legs criss crossed, head in his hands, tilting his head.

"Oh goddammit," I groaned. "Are you stoned, or something?"

"No. But I know you have your awesome gothic soothing reading voice." His hands clasped together, and his lips quivered. "Please?"

"Fucking—please don't say you want a picture book. Because I am not ready for six year old Ike."

"Nope. The Hemmingway book, read me a story from it."

Dutifully, I got the book, making my way back to the bed and crawling in the covers, and Ike did the same. He curled up next to me, and I growled, wanting to get this over with. He took the book from me, flipping a certain page.

"Read this one," he said, pointing at the title. **HILLS LIKE WHITE ELEPHANTS. **

"Isn't this about abortion?" I asked, examining the page.

"Yup," he said. "It has nice descriptions, though. Makes me weirdly relaxed."

"Alright." I cleared my throat, draping my arm over Ike's shoulder as he wriggled closer. "_The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white..."_

As I continued to read, Ike's mouth slowly pulled into a smile, and he closed his eyes. "You _do _have a nice reading voice. So calm...," he mumbled somewhere in the middle, sinking into my arm. I smirked, continuing on. Pretty soon, as the moon was high in the sky, Ike was fast asleep, still smiling. His weight was heavy on my shoulder, but I managed to place the book back on the end table. Snoring softly, Ike stirred a little, probably dreaming of some weird Canadian crap.

I cautiously reached for the lamp, desperate not to wake Ike, and clicked off the light. I paused for a few seconds, mind swirling with thoughts and ideas. The tiny rectangular window in the upper corner gave way to beams of moonlight.

"Forever...mine..." Ike murmured from his sleep, clutching my shirt a little tighter. I chuckled softly, gently tracing the features of his face with my pinky, before I rolled to my side and closed my eyes.

"I love you," I whispered softly, before drifting to the darkness.

…...

…

..

.

christophe perspective

Riiiiiiiing.

Riiiiiiiing.

"This is John Smith, from Briefcase Selling Realty. How may I help you?" Came the monotone voice on the other line. I rolled my eyes, fully expecting the greeting but still having no patience for it.

"Damien, cut ze sheet. It's-"

"Christophe, hello. No need for clarification, I can tell by your dramatic French accent." A small chuckle from the other end. I leaned against the balcony railing, pulling out a cigarette. "How are you? Haven't seen you since you were dead. I mean, I say that every time we talk over the phone, but it sounds like I'm a cool motherfuck."

"What?"

"Like in a creepy way. I was trying to be creepy and mysterious, because you're so goddamned serious all of the time whenever I talk to you. You know what, forget it."

"I 'onestly do not know what you are talking about, Antichrist, so I am just going to move right along, yes?" I cleared my throat, staring up at the starry sky, wondering how I'll piece together what I'm going to say. "Do you know anything about Satanic cults?"

Long pause, then some shuffling on the other end. "Yes. I'm not saying I'm particularly versed in people sacrificing animals to win respect of my father, but I do have some knowledge on the subject. Where are you right now?"

"America," I said regretfully, bracing myself for the response.

"WHAT? What happened to you vehemently claiming you would never go back to that, and I quote 'piss drinking country of brainless bitches'? I thought you'd be taking names in Africa, or something."

"..Are you okay? You do not sound like yourself. You sound like a teenager at a party, which I despise. Can I stop talking to this Damien now, and get the intelligent one?"

"Well, I mean, like, I was hunting down someone through the streets, right? So, like, get this, there was this guy, and he like, offered me this cookie? And even if I don't trust anyone, I was hungry, so I like, ate it, and now, it's just, whoa."

"You are getting more and more incoherent by ze second. Can't you just use your magic powers to erase ze poison in your system? I am guessing you were poisoned."

"Oh! Right!" Some wooshing sounds came from the other line, and heavy panting. "Alright, I did that. Sorry, I don't know what came over me. Satanic cults, right? Well, if you're looking at tracking one down, I can help you with that. I can't search specific ones, only see where they are located. My father gave me this device to do that before I left, to help. It was one of the few things he _did _do to help, actually."

"No need for ze father son angst, zank you. Just tell me where ze are locating."

"Fine," Damien said shortly, growling something about respect to superiors, which I didn't pay attention to. Beeping sounds, loud and rapid. "Hmmm...that's odd."

"Speet eet out, Antichrist."

I could practically _feel _the eyeroll coming from him. "There seems to be an unnatural gathering in the city of San Francisco, California. You heard of it?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes momentarily. Fuck my life. "Oui, I 'ave 'eard of zis San Francisco. What does zis mean?"

"I don't know, it could mean nothing, it could mean everything." Pause. "Oh, and there's a slightly smaller, but still greater than usual, amount of cults in...how about you guess? Which is the one place that can still be even crazier than San Francisco? Come on, take a wild fucking guess."

I sighed, groaning and hitting the rail with my fist. "Fucking South Park. Zis means I'm going to 'ave to investigate there, aren't I?"

"Investigate?" a stream of course words came from the demon's mouth. "Is this phone line wired? Who are you working for now?"

"Shut ze fuck up, goddammit. I can't stand your paranoid fucking psychoness right now. Listen, yes?" I didn't wait for a response, before launching into an tangent. "So, I got caught-"

"Well, everyone, bring out the trumpets, because the impossible has happened," he said in a dark tone. "The great Mole has been captured!"

"And I managed to get out of jail by doeeng some investigation where satanic cults may be murdering those who do not fit with ze ideals of zere culture. Got any ides?"

Damien hummed softly, and Christophe recognized the song as a melody from ancient folklore. Something about a princess drowning because she didn't obey her mother. "Get to South Park, then. I'll meet you there."

"What? Where are you?"

"I'm in Finland. It's pretty peaceful here. I went fishing, like a human. I ate it raw and everyone stared. Also, I'm assuming you're in San Francisco, because I have a tracker on you."

"You have a-"

"Sh. Shhhh," Damien cooed, and I could feel him smirking too. Demons are such pains in my ass. "If you're investigating, you have someone else working with you. Have him or her take care of San Francisco, then come to South Park in three days. We'll have a spying mission and find out what they're up to. Just like the old days."

"Why are you doing zis?" I asked suspiciously, narrowing my eyes.

"Because, part one, I am bored with trivial mortal duties. Part two, this sounds interesting, I want more information. Part three, I miss my little Christophy woffy poffy noffy!"

"You are still 'igh, aren't you?"

"No, I'm just a dick."

"Goodbye, Antichrist."

"See you in a few days, Mole."

_shift point of view._

**THUMP.**

"Fuck the what?" I garbled, sitting up in my entanglement of the blankets. My vision focusing, the very hunched over figure of a man in his twenties glaring at Ike and me. He's holding a cardboard box full of the dusty books from the shelf.

"Sorry, I meant to disturb you with more force," the man said calmly, dropping the box.

**THUMP.**

"What a charmer," I grumbled, not fully yet appreciating being woken up at- "It's five a.m.! Who are you?"

Break and enter man ruffled his midnight black hair, his face not betraying any true rage, but more of a "you-fuckers-need-to-die-so-I-can-move-on."

Ike smacked his lips, stirring awake.

Really? He didn't get up with the dead raising noises this man made?

"Who are you?" Ike asked, peering at the black haired man. "You look familiar."

"Have a flipped you off before?" the man asked cynically.

"No."

"Well then." He stuck up his middle finger. Ike was unfazed. He lives with me. "My name is Craig Tucker. My grandmother died here, and you've probably been fucking on her bed." Again, no actual rage. Just passive hate.

"I know you!" Ike shouted, making a move to get up, but instead getting wrapped up further in the blankets and tripping onto the floor. "Crap..." he muttered, getting up and facing this Craig person. He stuck a finger close to the man's face, a huge grin appearing. "As I was saying, I know you! You knew my brother! Kyle Broflovski!"

Imagine this. There is a boy lying in a bed, wearing a black wife beater (which you will not MENTION HIM WEARING) and some boxers, desperately wanting coffee and to go back to sleep. He just witnessed his boyfriend (read: also do not mention that this is Ike's title, it will get him happy) falling catastrophically onto the wooden floor flat on his face, in front of a man. This man has just been told something very ground breaking, because he has the perfect "oh shit" face on, clenching his hands and furrowing his brows. The boyfriend mentioned previously is shirtless, but with boxers on, so no horrors there. The man is wearing a blue sweatshirt, black pants, and other things that no one really cares about. Everything is so still you would swear time just froze right there.

Now.

Imagine you were the boy lying in the bed.

And the blue sweatshirt man just uttered, "Guinea pigs."

I ask you this:

Would you be utterly concerned? Or would you bury your face in the comfortable pillow and wish that you would die?

Yeah, both.

I was enjoying stuffing that cotton brick in my face, groaning and collapsing back on the mattress. Ike's smile faltered, lowering his pointed finger. "What?"

"Nothing. I hate your brother."

"Join the club!" I said, my voice muffled out by the pillow.

"As I was saying," Craig said scathingly, eyes narrowing. "Get off the bed. I'm taking everything that was my grandma's." He places his hands on his hips, knuckles white. I reluctantly roll off, not in the most pristine mood to argue. He yanked the mattress off, curling his lip in disgust. I stood next to Ike, who was worriedly twiddling his fingers. I rolled my eyes. Craig moved the mattress to the back wall, along with a lot of boxes containing Ms. Tucker's stuff. Apparently he's been here for a while, and June let him in without questions. I knew this place would have just divine security systems.

"You know...I think I dated your sister at one point," Ike said nonchalantly. I raised a very curious eyebrow at him, mouthing, _Really?_ Not as a "you did?" way, but in a "you would mention that NOW?" way.

"And look who you're with now," Craig said casually, eyes flickering over to me.

"Says the man who's probably never seen the genitalia of either genders since he was out of his mommy's vagina." Five AM, and I was still kicking ass with the scathing remarks. I bet this Craig thinks he's the king of shit hill with comebacks, but I claimed that title a long time ago.

"Don't be rude, his grandma just recently passed," Ike whispered to me.

I scoffed. This guy was probably the one who offed the old lady. "Ike, babe?"

He stared up at me with wide curious eyes, blush creeping on his cheeks. "Yeah?"

"Put on a shirt."

Ike smacked his forehead with his palm. "Right!" he scampered off to the suitcase, because we never got around to cleaning out the senior's closet of moth ball smelling clothes that had seen the light probably a century ago. It gave me the chills and Ike nightmares. Ike came back, pulling on a faded World Cup shirt. Craig kept shuffling around, taking stock and emptying out our apartment.

Soon, he was gone, and the apartment was empty, spare our suitcases, coffee machine, and a few appliances. The bed was still there, because Craig said he wouldn't "_touch the old hag's resting place __with a ten foot pole". _

Ike sighed, crouching on the wooden floor. "You know what?"

"What?"

"His sister was kind of nice. She turned out to be a lesbian though."

I smacked my palm against my forehead, sighing. Why would he mention that now? "I fucking hate you, Ike."

"Love you too."

CHRISTOPHE POV

I was up at 5AM, eyes cracking open and watching the sunlight stream in through the dusty window blinds. For brief seconds, I wondered who had attempted to kidnap me again, and my eyes darted around to find an escape. But usually my abductors have more lavish rooms, to make up for their small dicks. My shoulders relaxed, remembering the situation I was in. I smacked my lips, grabbing my shovel from its resting place against the wall and buttoning my green jacket. I had my gloves pulled on, and I was ready to make a swift leave, before Jeff came shambling out of his room, purple half moons under his eyes and hair sticking out in random places.

"What the hell are you making all of this noise for?" he asked, voice heavy with exhaustion.

"I am geeting ready to leave, fucker," I said, strapping on my shovel to my back and lacing my boots. Jeff's eyes widened, and he fumbled for a gun on his waistband that wasn't there.

"You can't escape," he panted.

I rolled my eyes, opening my bag and taking a cigarette out. "I am going on my morning exercises. You know, jumping from building to building, running on ze bridge rails, all of zat sheet."

"You do that every morning?"

"Eet is 'ow I stay so toned, or whatever eet is."

"Okay, look." he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "You can't leave my sight. Besides, you need to get ready for school."

"Not that sheet again," I groaned, lighting the cigarette.

"Yes, we talked about this. Even though this Shift character seems to be disconnected from this case, it stands to reason you could find out more information on cults, and maybe investigate to find a few more people who might know some things. I mean, there could be more people like the descriptions in San Francisco, right? Why not at the college?"

Thinking back to what Damien said last night _(they seem to be locating there...)_I nodded, grumbling something incoherent.

"Are you tired, or something?" Jeff asked, getting a comb from the kitchen and trying to tame his bed hair.

"_Non. _My body ees set to wake up at five o' clock sharp, every gooddamn morning."

"That's rough, buddy," he said. "But after I'm ready, we're getting in the car and getting you to school."

"Fuck."

(JEFF PERSPECTIVE)

Focused on the road, I tried to figure out how this could work. Christophe is still charged with criminal acts, and even though we caught him, many are still informed to keep a look out for a Frenchman who smokes heavily and carries around a shovel. Although, the first part of the description is pretty much every Frenchmen, Christophe's shovel could be a dead giveaway. Also, the accent...

"Can you speak in an American accent?" I asked the boy, who was still smoking away. His lips were blue, and his hands were cupped around his cigarette. Before I inquired about his temperature, but he insisted he was sensitive to the cold, which made me doubtful. You would think mercenaries could handle any condition.

"Of course I can, bitch. 'aving lived around you cocksucking pigs has unfortunately made me used to your accent," he proclaimed.

"Well, show me," I said impatiently. This kid was going to drive me off the edge of a cliff, I swear.

"Alright." He took the cigarette out, coughing once and clearing his throat. "Hello, I am a stupid faggot," he said crisply, even if a tad over-pronounced. His pitch was a little low, too. "All I do is sit around all day and eat burgers, because I think heart disease if fun. Also, I pay prostitutes to love me because no one else can, according to my tiny dick." he smirked, looking up at me. "Was zat up to your expectation, offizzer?"

"It was pretty good," I said, albeit regretfully. "You're also going to have to look nice, and refer to yourself as Chris."

"Zat is ze worst name, ever. I may not be thrilled by ze panzy name my mozzer gave me to torture me, but at least it iz better than _Chris._"

"I know. But you're gonna have to deal with it," I said, pulling up in the parking lot of the police station. A few earlier morning shifts were coming in, a grimace plastered on their faces. The kid sighed, tapping out a few more ashes on my carpet, which I had just cleaned, and I seriously considered murder right then and there.

"This the new kid?" One of my officers asked as we walked in. He was combing his mustache. I have always admired that man's ability to grow that gorgeous fur on his upper lip. It's a very coveted trait around here.

"Yeah, I guess he could be called that," Jeff said, and he heard Christophe mutter very defiantly _I am not a fucking kid! _before they went into the back room where the detectives worked on disguises. It was a useless room, I regularly thought, mostly because it seemed ridiculous to dedicate an entire room to silly costumes. My twin sister was bitten by the theatre bug, but I usually played card games in the library in high school.

"Uh, 'ello? Ze Earth to Jeff?" Christophe said, waving a hand in front of my face, breaking my thoughts. I scoffed, like I was even more immature than him, and browsed through the boxes and racks for something suitable for him to wear.

"Can I help you with something?" A young man asked, twiddling his thumbs and smiling pleasantly. He looked to be about 20, and his brown locks weren't yet tamed. "I'm the new intern, and-" he noticed Christophe was inspecting him, nose almost pressed right against the sleeve of the boy's shirt. It was amusing, because even if the boy was clearly a year or two younger than Christophe, he still towered over him like a giant.

"'ave you passed a background check?" Christophe asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Of course," the boy said. "I'm Mitch, by the way. I'm a Humanities major at the University, but have been thinking of switching to Law Enforcement. And you must be the Christophe kid. I was warned not to give you your shovel."

"Those uncle fucking ass licking-"

"Oh-kay!" I said loudly, clamping a hand over Christophe's mouth and nodded at Mitch. "Thank you, but we're fine on our own."

Mitch shrugged, and disappeared back into the offices. I felt sharp teeth pricking at my skin, and I pulled back in surprise at the contact. "Did you just bite me?" I asked incredulously, inspecting the where his teeth had punctured it. The skin was broken, and a tiny pool of blood was forming.

"Don't you ever put your filthy cop hands over my mouth!"

I stared at the ceiling, sighing and again contemplating homicide. "For that, you're getting the good Christian boy outfit."

(**SHIFT PERSPECTIVE!)**

We walked to the courtyard, and Ike turned on his heel to me, tilting his head. "Shift. I have a mission for you today."

"Don't punch anybody who listens to Bieber in the face? You ask too much," I said, trying to smooth out my hair from cowlicks. We were limited on furniture after Craig's visit, so it was a rush to get to school.

"No. I need you to make new friends," Ike said, almost regretfully, breaking eye contact and fiddling with the zipper on his bag.

"Why such a torturous task?" I groaned. "This your new fetish?"

"..." Ike's mouth opened, then closed again, shaking his head. "Anyways, you need to make new friends so you won't be bored with I take work today." He always had that haughty voice whenever he said "work", like he was so goddamn proud. I really was working on finding a job, but most of the publications in San Francisco were about spreading peace, and that wasn't really my thing.

"Fine, but

French class. Despite having several relatives completely fluent in French, I never cared enough to bother remembering everything I was taught. Which wasn't much; the South Park school system hired the nearest man with a mustache to teach French, who spent his time sewing quilts and speaking German. I drew a Nazi symbol on my final and got an A+. So that's how I'm sitting in a college level French class, knowing little more than 'bonjour'. I'm screwed.

The teacher came out, who told us to refer to her as Madame D. What the hell did Madame mean?

Then she immediately started her lesson entirely in French. The other students kept nodding at random intervals, writing notes furiously, as I sat there blankly, pondering if the French were more open to cigarette smokers everywhere.

"Hey, man," a rough voice said to me, enunciating each word. I turned my head forty five degrees, seeing a short, tiny, but very muscular man sitting next to me, dirt smudged on his face, hair greasy, but otherwise in very crisp clean clothes. He looked like he was about to ask me if I had "heard the good word" then would proceed to hit me in the face with his Bible and take my kidney. I was kind of drawn to that.

"Hello," I said briskly. Even if I was fascinated by him, I wasn't going to fucking talk to him. He's probably another conformist, just faking the difference.

"Having troubles?" he asked, noticing my inattention to the lecture. I tapped my pencil against my pad, contemplating writing another poem. But I had no inspiration for anything other than cheesy love poems or raunchy sex ones, if the latter even existed. Not like I would actually write it.

"That's none of your business," I informed him curtly. The guy bristled, and his teeth ground together, before he tensed, relaxed, and breathed through his nose.

"I'm having problems, too," he said, crossing his arms behind his neck, putting his feet on the table. His sneakers looked brand new, and he stared at them with utter distaste. "French isn't my best subject."

"Oh really," I deadpanned, pointedly looking at his notebook. The page was littered with French phrases and sentences in neat cursive, jumbled together with a number at the top, **65227**. I suspected it was the number of this course, which I hadn't bothered to look at.

He quickly closed the notebook, sheepishly shoving it in his tan bag. "Disregard that."

"Right." A few awkward moments of long, drawn out silence. The teacher babbled on, nose high in the air and fingernails raking the board. I sighed, leaning back in my chair and hoping to get a few more minutes of precious uninterrupted sleep. There didn't seem to be any grumpy twenty year olds around, so maybe...

"I'm...Chris, by the way," the guy said, chomping down on his tongue afterward. I opened one eye, glancing over at him.

"Are you unsure of your name?" I asked, closing my eyes again.

"No you insolent little-" he paused, taking a deep breath, and narrowing his eyes at his feet. "No."

"Alright, be psycho and rip the heads off of toddlers when you're forty and still in the closet. I'm Shift."

After class, I invited Chris to walk with me out to the campus for some coffee, because Ike had been insisting lately that I make some friends so that once he takes up coaching I won't be "lonely". He finally got a position and was starting at four. We were trekking across the quad, the sprinkler water splashing at our feet. I asked Chris questions about hobbies and the like, and he usually said weird crap like "digging" or "hunting" I inquired about what kind of animals he hunted, and he responded with a cold "the bad ones." Chills ran down my spine, and I resolved to try to not make friends and become very solitare.

"Hey, Shift!" someone called, and I turned slightly, clutching my backpack, expecting to see Ike chasing after us, when I spotted Mitch approaching. He clapped me on the back, pushing some hair from his face and giving the two of us a big goofy grin. What an asshole. "How's freshman year so far?"

"Expensive," I muttered. Mitch gave a booming laugh, tapping his pencil on his pant leg while he walked. Chris said nothing, just chewing on a dirt encrusted thumbnail and studying Mitch closely. I thought about something right then; Chris didn't look like a freshman. Actually, he appeared to be in his early twenties, despite the short stature.

"I hear you," Mitch said. "Hey, want to go to the coffee shop? I have some gift cards, I could pay," he said, pulling out a mangy looking wallet, held together by duct tape. He paused, noticing Chris. "Oh, hey man. You look familiar. Have I seen you...?"

"No, you haven't," Chris cut in forcefully, holding up a finger for emphasis on his words. He teeth clamped together, and he mumbled something about idiotic Americans.

Mitch's eyes widened, seeming to have realize something very important. "Oh! Shit, sorry man. I guess...I guess I was mistaken." Then his eyes betrayed a knowing look to Chris, and he nodded once.

"What?" I asked, thoroughly confused.

"Nothing," they both chimed. I shrugged, now absolutely sure I wasn't cut out for having friends, and we made our way to the coffee shop.

**christophe POINT. OF. _vacation!- thought I was going to say 'view', huh? well, it's not his vacation, or anything. I just wanted to entertain you._**

****The time at the coffee shoppe was awkward, to say the least. I never drank coffee anymore, I'm still convinced that was the reason my stature is still ridiculously small. I was sitting across from Mitch, who I kept glaring daggers at, to which he responded with a goofy smile which I detested. He was a people pleaser, the worst thing ever.

"So, how are your classes, Shift? What's your schedule?"

Shift launched into a tangent about how decidedly horrid all of his teachers were, and how he'd like to burn them all, with Mitch nodding and sipping his coffee. I surveyed our surroundings, searching for clues on this case The cashier was asleep at the counter, drooling on the tile, which was stupid, seeing how she worked in a caffine factory.

I was never one for irony.

The ruffling of a newspaper in front of me stirred my attention. A few tables down, someone was watching us. Well, watching Shift, to be precise. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl, or what appeared to be kohl. If it was actual kohl, she would die of lead poisoning. Her fingernails were drawn with sharpie, and were quickly rubbing clean from her saliva, due to her biting them. She's a smoker, I could tell from the tar smears on her teeth. Her outfit was strikingly similar to Shift's, although this girl was revealing _much _more cleavage. Call me old fashioned, but I do not believe you should see part of a woman's nipple because of her outfit. Not that her exposure did anything for me, it only made me want to look away.

But still, the feverence she held for Shift was intriguing. In between short responses to the other two's questions, I stayed silent, sipping my tea (shut up) and watching the girl.

"Hey! Shift! You made friends!" a black haired freshman squealed, in a blue hoodie with a mound of textbooks in his arms. The boy immediately hugged Shift from where he was sitting, planting a wet kiss on his forehead. Shift seemed utterly horrified, growling and pointing for Ike to sit down. The girl appeared extremely interested in this exhange.

"Ike, this is Chris, and Mitch," Shift said begrudgingly, pointing to the both of us respectively. I gave a short nod, lighting a cigarette with my lucky lighter.

Ike giggled incessantly. "Well, Shift, you didn't stray too far from your personality!"

"Pleased to make your accquatence," Mitch greeted. "And may I be the first to say, you both make an adorable couple."

Ike blushed furiously, hiding his face behind his textbook, while Shift grumbled,"You're not the first..."

The girl had begun taking notes with a pen, that had a skull glued on the end. I kept my peeking inconspicuous, but still-

"Who are you watching?" Ike and Mitch said in perfect union. I turned uprubtly, cursing to myself.

"I am so sick of hanging around obsevant people," Shift griped.

"No one," I said quickly, ducking my head.

"Oh, I think Chris has a crush!" Ike crooned, twisting his head around obviously to look at my target. The girl quickly ducked her head behind a newspaper.

"You accuse me of a 'crush', and I will rip out your balls and juggle them," I growled.

Shift glared. "Hey, only I get to make agressive threats towards the Canadian," he said defensively.

Ike rolled his eyes, sipping the mocha he had purchased. "Calm, Shift. I'm used to it, hanging out with you. He's just defensive that I figured out his love." Ike made a huge goofy wink, which I detested.

"Shut it, I am not in love with a girl!"

"Oh, so maybe it's a guy...?" Ike said, looking around for anyone else in the cafe.

"You. Wish." I furrowed my eyebrows, still hoping to catch a glimpse of that girl. Maybe she's tied to my case...

"Fine, fine. Hey, why don't we go bowling?" Ike said, standing up. Shift shrugged, gathering his backpack. Mitch nodded enthusiatically. I pushed my chair back.

"No thanks, I, uh, have some homework to do," I said quickly. Ike smirked.

"Yeah, uh huh, right. Go on, flirt with her. Nice meeting you!" Ike said, and Shift tugged him out, whispering _he doesn't seem like the type you actually want to piss off. _

And I am alone. The girl unfortunately gets up and walks off, following the trio. My eyes quickly dart around, before I make my way over to the table she was sitting at, inspecting the area. I tuck the newspaper she left behind in my back pocket for lab analysis.

What's this?

I leaned down, inspecting the floor. Few pieces of rock were left behind. I took them gently between my fingers. They looked like the ones from the crime scene.

Asbestos.

UNKNOWN PERSPECTIVE.

_The echoes of the screams vibrated in my memories, which I pushed back into the depths of my brain. My under servants were frantically searching through various maps and social networking profiles to find future victims. I cared about none of this. I sat on the edge of the shore, crouching on jagged rocks and simply watching. My hair flew freely to my side, waves of black tangles just becoming one with the wind. I am all powerful. I am the Goddess to all of these lost souls, only committing to the popular because they do not have me to guide them. If they are unwilling, then what choice do I have than to kill them mercilessly? It's the price of being an all knowing beautiful creature of the shadows._

"_We have information," Necro piped up behind me, his hair falling into his eyes, and a long scar crossing over his face that I believed traced the map to his true evil. _

"_Oh?" I asked with faux disinterest, keeping my focus on the sea spread out before me. "About the possible traitor?"_

"_Yes. Broflovski. We hacked into the university's servers, which only came up with one name matching. Ike Broflovski. We of course sent informants to track him, but our results were surprising. This Ike was very unlike us, a conformist. He was certainly not what we were looking for."_

"_Then why in the name of crows did you inform me of this?" I snapped, sending an acerbic glare his way. He didn't flinch, which was one of the reasons I kept him as a number two. He simply straightened his black silk jacket, pleased with himself._

"_We thought we had lost the trail, when he came upon someone who was very apart of our culture. He matched the descriptions of the witness' statements who had seen him originally perfectly. We overheard him saying something about South Park, Colorado. I think this boy is our target. We also believe that he is the 'significant other' of Ike Broflovski."_

"_South Park..." I mumbled, chewing thoughtfully on my black polished thumbnail. "Alright. This is what will take place. We kill this Ike; he's obviously useless to us now. Then we have one of our members befriend this 'significant other' character, and find out what he knows." _

_Necro tilts his head. "I apologize for being blunt, but-"_

"_Apology not accepted."_

"_But I believe that would be unwise to kill the conformist. I do not see how we could possibly befriend the possible traitor if his loved one has been murdered. I suggest we proceed with stealth, perhaps?"_

_I sighed, placing myself back on the rocks. "Very well, we'll do it your way." I then stood up again, trudging my way back up to the building. "But while you are organizing that, I am embarking on a trip to South Park."_

"_Would you like me to inform your mother you are coming home?"_

_I stomped my foot, a few pebbles tumbling down the cliff and into the ocean. "Don't be mental, of course not. No...this is a business trip. There is no other way I would come home if it was not."_


End file.
